/ 


MAUDE  AWD  MIRIAM; 

OR, 

THE  FAIR  CRUSADER. 


BY 

HARRIET  B.  McKEEVER, 

07  **Rn.VSR  THREADS”  ” WESTBROOK  PARrOHAGt,’*  ” OKODEHl 
WITH  THE  POETS,”  ETC.  SIC. 


NEW  A^ORK 

HURST  & COMPANY 


PUBLISHERS 


Stotered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  187-^  by 
E.  CLAXTON  & CO., 

In  tiid  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  WasningtoB* 


AUG  8-  1940  S*  MCOopqld  /‘J 


I 

J 

^ PREFACE. 


WE  find  the  great  adversary  in  every  encroachiog 
upon  the  church  of  the  Redeemer,  corrupting,  en- 
slaving, flattering,  persecuting,  until,  the  darkness  creep- 
ing on,  the  church  was  enveloped  for  ages  in  a shroud 
of  superstition  and  deep  corruption.  But  in  every  age 
there  were  the  hidden  ones  given  to  the  Lord  Jesus  from 
eternity.  With  these  premises,  we  take  three  standpoints 
from  which  to  view  the  history  of  the  Crusaders  — political, 
romantic,  Christian. 

The  political  historian  sees  one  set  of  men  distinguished 
by  great  and  heroic  qualities,  holding  the  reins  of  power, 
ruling  the  world,  and,  deifying  these,  to  man  only  he  gives 
the  glory.  The  novelist  searches  for  romantic  incident  and 
striking  characters;  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  with  his  magic 
pen^  paints  pictures  that  fascinate  and  thrill : but  no  fingei 
of  God  is  seen  among  them.  We  are  in  the  midst  of  mailed 
knights  and  clanging  armor,  and  the  shouts  of  tournaments, 
of  noble  ladies  and  inspiring  music,  and  the  fierce  conflicts 
of  those  feudal  days  ; but  the  great  novelist  gives  us  no 
key  by  which  to  unlock  the  secret  cells  where  God  hath 
hidden  his  own  people  in  all  ages  of  the  world.  It  remains, 

I 1 62452 


Vlll 


PREFACE. 


therefore,  for  the  Christian  to  take  God's  own  book,  and 
with  that  to  search  for  his  own  people. 

Surrounded  as  they  were,  for  many  centuries,  by  the 
corruptions  of  the  Komish  Church,  denied  the  pure  Word 
of  God,  it  was  only  here  and  there  that  the  Great  Head  of 
the  Church  placed  his  seal  upon  the  souls  of  the  faithful. 

With  these  views,  doubtless  we  shall  find  hidden  in 
secret  places  his  own  dear  children,  and  may  perhaps  find 
his  blessed  gospel  in  the  hands  of  a few  anxious  to  know 
the  truth.  Thus  moves  the  panorama  of  the  world's  history 
before  us,  until,  through  ages  of  increasing  wickedness,  we 
come  to  these  feudal  days,  at  last  ushering  in  the  Cru- 
saders,— days  when  bands  of  plunderers  roamed  through 
Europe,  property  held  only  by  the  sword ; the  history  of 
that  age  a medley  of  massacre  and  crime.  But  the  world 
at  length  grew  tired  of  barbarity,  and  a reacting  spirit  of 
order  was  born  from  this  heaving  chaos. 

It  was  then  that  some  poor  nobles  leagued  together,  with 
the  holy  purpose  of  redressing  wrongs  and  defending  the 
weak.  They  gave  their  hands  to  each  other  in  pledge  that 
they  would  not  turn  back  from  their  work,  and  called  upon 
St.  George  to  bless  their  cause. 

The  church  sanctified  it  with  a solemn  benediction. 

And  now  awoke  fully  the  spirit  of  chivalry.  Let  us 
glance  at  the  bright  impersonation,  as  it  stood  forth  gal- 
lantly clad  in  this  period  of  the  world’s  history. 

With  an  eye  fixed  upon  the  Paradise  which  it  imagined ; 
a lip  that  spoke  the  words  of  truth,  honor,  loyalty,  rever- 
ence, .purity,  and  benevolence ; with  an  arm  grasping  the 


PREFACE. 


IX 


sword  in  the  defence  of  innocence  and  oppression;  feet 
ready  to  march  at  all  times  in  the  service  of  the  Church ; 
clad  in  the  armor  of  knighthood,  and  set  apart  by  religious 
ceremonies,  we  behold  a soldier  of  the  cross  in  mediaeval 
days  I The  people  almost  adored  their  heroic  defenders ; for 
every  moral  virtue  became  a part  of  knightly  honor. 

They  did  their  work  in  revolutionizing  the  face  of  society, 
and  passed  away. 

In  the  meanwhile,  let  us,  Christians  of  the  nineteenth 
century,  learn  a powerful  lesson  from  the  deeds  of  the  Cru- 
saders. We  see  them,  in  their  fanatical  zeal,  laying  aside 
every  weight,  with  a single  aim  directed  to  one  great  object 
of  recovering  the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  the  hands  of 
infidels;  men  with  the  same  moral  and  intellectual  nature 
that  we  possess. 

If,  then,  the  whole  of  Christendom  were  stirred  up  to 
leave  honae,  and  friends,  and  ease,  for  that  one  object ; if 
men  and  women  of  all  ranks  took  up  the  cross  for  an  empty 
tomb,  how  much  more  should  the  Christians  of  a more 
enlightened  age  imitate  their  zeal  and  self-sacrifice  by 
bending  every  energy  to  the  one  glorious  object  of  restor- 
ing this  revolted  world  to  the  dominion  of  our  Lord. 
Joining  no  crusade  against  fellow-Christians,  fighting  no 
spirits  of  the  air,  but  in  a solid  phalanx,  with  a crusader’s 
zeal,  warring  against  every  real  form  of  opposition  to  the 
kingdom  of  our  Lord. 

In  conclusion,  the  facts  related  in  this  introductory 
chapter,  and  elsewhere,  are  derived  largely  from  Proctor’s 
“ History  of  the  Crusades,”  and  James’s  “ Hhstory  of  Chiv* 


X 


PREFACE. 


airy;”  but  so  mingled  with  the  writer's  own  remarks^ 
that  they  are  not  distinguished  by  quotation-marks,  but 
accredited  in  this  general  manner.  To  Sir  Walter  Scott 
we  are  indebted  for  extracts  from  the  Wardour  manuscripts, 
in  the  description  of  a tournament,  in  the  same  manner. 
The  hymns  are  gathered  from  Neal's  Mediaeval  Hymns,” 
and  Dr.  Schaff's  “ Christ  in  Song.”  Unable  to  obtain  any 
of  the  lays  of  the  old  troubadours,  the  author  has  attempted 
knitations. 


CONTENTS 


OHAVriE 

I.  — The  Priory 

II.  — Ravensclifp  26 

III.  — Gay  Besiegers 41 

IV. — -Bede's  Gospel  OF  St.  John  . . . • 49 

V.  — The  Yule  Log 59 

VI.  — The  Brave  Days  of  Old 70 

VII.  — Maude  in  the  Twilight 81 

VIII.  — The  Troubadours  ......  92 

IX.  — Crusaders  AT  THE  Castle 105 

X.  — Maude  IN  THE  Day-dawn  . . . .116 

XI.  — Eoyal  V isiTORS 128 

XII.  — The  Tournament 138 

XIII. — The  Evil  Eye  at  Hawksworth  . . . .154 

XIV.  — The  Midnight  Mass 168 

XV.  — Eveline  at  Court 183 

XVI.  — Welcome  at  Acre 197 

XVII.  — The  Caged  Lion  ....  * . . 218 

zi 


CONTENTS, 


OBAPTEft 

XVIIL —Maijde  AND  Miriam 
XIX.  — Moonlight  among  the  Wounded  . 
XX.  — Maude  Languishes  . . 

XXI. — Ascalon 

XXII.  — The  Pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem  . 
XXIIL— The  Priory  of  St.  Agnes  . 

XXIV.  — Return  op  the  Crusaders  . 

XXV.  — One  op  a Royal  Priesthood  ' 


fiffi 


237 

252 

269 

281 

292 

801 

821 


Maude  and  Miriam. 


CHAPTER  I 


THE  PRIORY, 


E are  in  the  feudal  days  of  Old  England,  often  spoken 


f by  ancient  poets  as  “ brave  and  merrie  Angoland,’’ 
when  the  rude  and  warlike  spirit  of  the  times,  notwithstand- 
ing the  truce  of  God,  rendered  it  unsafe  for  females  to  travel 
without  an  escort. 

We  will  apply  brave  now  to  the  beauty  of  the  country, 
while  yet  the  grand  old  forests  covered  so  many  broad 
acres. 

It#is  spring-time;  that  fresh  and  vernal  season  when 
Nature  puts  on  her  lovely  robes  in  that  “fair  countrie.” 

Though  matrons  and  young  maidens  are  necessarily 
eecluded,  the  free  and  happy  birds  are  filling  the  air  with 
their  melody ; for  they  sang  then,  as  they  do  now,  over  the 
ploughed  and  blood-stained  battle-field  as  in  the  green  and 
shady  forest.  We  have  just  emerged  from  one  of  these 
solitudes,  and  turn  our  eyes  upon  a hill-top  where  a gay 
cavalcade  is  just  appearing  on  the  brow,  a flood  of  sunlight 
illumining  the  grassy  sward. 


2 


18 


14 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


It  is  a bright  and  gallant  sight,  but  by  no  means  un- 
usual. 

Mountetl  upon  fine  chargers,  two  young  esquires  head  the 
procession  in  the  glittering  attire  of  those  days ; three  pages 
follow,  leading  each  a noble  palfrey  richly  caparisoned, 
with  crimson  saddle-cloths  heavily  embroidered,  trimmed 
with  a broad  gilt  border,  and  reaching  almost  to  the  ground. 
There  are  twenty-four  men-at-arms  in  the  rear,  and  as  the 
sun  shines  upon  the  glittering  armor,  we  hear  the  clanging 
of  swords,  the  cheery  voices  of  the  leaders  beguiling  the 
way  with  pleasant,  merry  converse. 

Whither  are  they  bound  ? 

Let  us  listen  awhile  to  the  two  gallant  young  esquires. 

‘‘  It  hath  been  long  season  syth  we  have  looked  upon 
Maude,’^  said  the  young  man  to  the  right ; “ no  playful  little 
demoiselle  now,  forsooth  ! ” 

“ Yes,  Guy,  the  years  atween  fourteen  and  eighteen  ripen 
our  Norman  maidens,’’  said  her  brother,  Lancelot  de  Vere. 
The  former  speaker,  Guy  de  Mowbray,  ■ was  the  chosen 
friend  of  the  latter ; they  had  not  stepped  very  far  over  the 
twenties  in  their  young  lives,  both  sons  of  stately  barons 
dwelling  in  two  feudal  castles, — near  enough,  however,  to 
admit  of  intercourse, — and  were  now  on  their  way  to  the 
Priory  of  St.  Agnes,  where,  according  to  the  customs  of  the 
nobles,  Maude  and  Eveline  de  Vere  and  Alice  de  Mowbray, 
had  been  immured  four  years,  receiving  their  education 
under  the  care  of  a sister  of  the  Baron  of  RavensclifiT,  who 
was  prioress  of  the  convent. 

Over  hill  and  dale,  and  by  the  border  of  silver  streams, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


15 


they  pursued  their  way,  meeting  only  a few  peasants,  who 
lived  in  a state  of  serfdom  on  the  estates  of  their  feudal 
masters.  But  we  are  in  sight  of  the  ancient  priory,  stand- 
ing, in  its  gloomy  stateliness,  just  on  the  borders  of  a deep 
forest.  It  is  a fine  old  abbey,  whose  dark-gray  towers  are 
covered  with  ivy,  the  growth  of  many  passing  years;  for  it 
is  probable  that  there  are  mouldering  forms  beneath  its 
time-worn  stones,  whose  hands  may  have  plucked  the  oldest 
of  the  dark-green  wreaths. 

A loud  ring  at  the  convent-gate,  opening  upon  the  court- 
yard, brought  one  of  the  cloistered  nuns  to  answer  the  sum- 
mons. 

‘‘We  would  see  the  holy  mother,’^  said  the  young  man, 
who  was  the  first  to  speak ; “ tell  her  that  Lancelot  de  Vere 
waiteth  her  bidding.” 

The  nun  silently  disappeared,  and  in  a few  minutes  re- 
turned with  orders  to  admit  the  two  leaders,  and  to  direct 
the  pages  and  men-at-arms  to  out-buildings  used  for  such  in 
times  of  danger. 

Conducted  forward  into  the  parlor  of  the  abbey,  they 
were  directed  to  seats,  and  the  nun  again  silently  disap- 
peared. The  door  soon  opened,  and\  a lady  of  unusually 
commanding  appearance,  clad  in  the  costume  of  her  order, 
entered. 

“ Art  come  for  thy  sisters,  Lancelot?  ” said  the  lady;  “ the 
maidens  have  been  sore  distraught  with  waiting : I trow  if 
aught  else  hath  filled  their  foolish  heads  but  thy  coming.” 

“ Not  more  than  seemeth  at  RavenscliflT,  holy  mother,” 

I was  the  reply;  “for  all  be  astir  at  the  old  castle,  from 


16 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


Father  iimbrose  the  priest  to  Cicely  the  old  nurse;  but 
where  tarry  the  young  demoiselles?  can  we  see  them 
speedily  ? ” 

The  prioress  rang  the  bell,  and  the  same  nun  that  ad 
mitted  them  answered  the  call. 

“ Bid  the  Ladies  Maude  and  Eveline  de  Vere,  and  the 
Lady  Alice  de  Mowbray,  to  the  small  parlor;  visitors  await 
them.” 

In  a minute  or  two,  the  three  entered. 

A lovely  trio ! ” thought  the  young  esquires,  as  they 
greeted  the  maidens ; Guy  especially  attracted  toward  the 
playmate  of  his  childhood.  Maude  and  Eveline  were  twin 
sisters,  bearing  strong  resemblance  to  each  other  in  form, 
feature,  and  carriage ; but  in  expression,  entirely  distinct. 

Maude’s  dark-brown  eyes  were  full  of  thought  and  earn- 
* est  feeling,  but  Eveline’s  were  dancing  with  merriment  at 
all  times.  Maude’s  beautiful  black  hair  was  glossy,  wavy, 
and  gathered  up  into  a golden  net,  as  was  the  fashion  of  the 
day  for  young  ladies. 

Eveline's  had  a sunny  tint,  with  the  same  head-dress,  but 
which  could  not  wholly  confine  the  profusion  of  small  curls 
that  would  stray  from  the  confinement. 

Maude’s  mouth  was  expressive  of  tenderness,  firmness, 
decision.  Eveline’s,  though  cut  in  the  same  delicate  curves 
of  beauty,  quivered  in  its  nest  of  dimples,  stirred  by  every 
shade  of  feeling. 

Maude’s  figure  was  of  the  same  height  as  Eveline’s,  but  a 
common  observer  would  pronounce  her  much  taller,  so  erect 
and  dignified  were  all  her  movements,  while  Eveline’s  quick 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


17 


and  graceful  motions  were  the  very  personification  of  light- 
hearted girlhood. 

Alice  de  Mowbray,  a girl  of  nineteen,  with  dark  hair,  and 
eyes  resembling  her  brother  Guy,  with  lineaments  strongly 
marked  by  their  Norman  descent,  was  the  third  who 
hastened  to  meet  the  visitors  in  the  convent  parlor. 

“Brother,  mine,”  said  Maude,  as  she  clasped  Lancelot 
around  the  neck ; “ all  yestreen  I watched  from  matin  hour 
to  vesper's  close,  and  thou  earnest  not ; but  how  thou  hast 
grown,  amaist  as  tall  as  our  father.” 

“And  thou,  Maude,”  holding  her  oflT  at  arm’s  length; 
“ soothly,  when  last  I saw  thee,  thou  wert  a little  demoiselle, 
and  now  thou  art  — shall  I whisper  in  thine  ear?  — a 
queen  of  beauty.” 

Maude  blushed  at  compliments,  even  from  her  brother, 
as  she  replied : 

“ And  thou,  Lancelot,  art  no  more  a page,  but  a brave 
esquire,  forsooth ! ” 

Lancelot  had  an  arm  around  each  of  his  lovely  sisters, 
and  smiling  upon  Eveline,  he  said : 

“Thou  art  very  like  thy  sister,  and  yet  not  like;  for 
Maude  is  a picture  of  the  Madonna,  but  thou  art  merry  as 
a mavis ; in  thy  laughing  eyes  I see  it,  Eveline.” 

Guy  had  waited  patiently  for  the  greeting  of  the  brother 
and  sisters. 

And  now  Maude  extended  her  hand. 

“ Wilt  pardon  me,  Guy  ? It  hath  been  so  long  syth  I 
clasped  hands  with  Lancelot,  that  perchance  meseemeth 
rude,  but,  certes,  I meant  it  not.” 

2*  B 


18 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Guy  bent  with  knightly  courtesy  over  the  extended  hand, 
feeling  the  great  difference  between  this  lovely  woman  anu 
the  little  queen  of  his  boyish  sports. 

“How  fareth  Father  Ambrose?”  inquired  Maude. 

“Just  as  jolly  an  old  friar  as  ever  drank  a flagon  of  good 
ale,  INIaude,”  replied  her  brother.  “He  will  not  trouble 
thee  with  hard  penances,  for,  beshrew  me!  an’  he  hatli 
never  on  me  laid  one  for  my  many  sins.” 

“ And  good  old  Cicely  ? ” said  Eveline. 

“A  clever  old  soul  she  seemeth,”  replied  Lancelot, 
“ counting  the  days  syth  Michaelmas,  when  she  wist  that 
her  young  demoiselles  were  coming  home.” 

“ What  sayest  thou  of  our  father,  Lancelot  ? ” 

“ Unquiet,  Maude ; for  the  Baron  of  Ravenscliff*  liketh 
not  a life  of  ease  in  a lady’s  bower.  He  talketh  much  and 
often  about  the  crusades.  I should  not  be  astonied  an’  he 
were  to  join  the  soldiers  of  the  cross  ere  the  rising  and  set- 
ting of  many  suns.” 

“ The  Baron  of  Ravenscliff  is  brave  as  he  is  good,  Lance- 
lot, and  it  becometh  not  the  children  of  a true  knight  to 
say  nay,  when  the  Holy  Sepulchre  is  in  the  hands  of  infi- 
dels ; but  the  bare  thought  wringeth  the  heart.” 

“ Thou  wilt  have  a brother  and  a father  ere  long,  I trow, 
among  the  crusaders ; but  I must  know  something  of  tliy 
doings,  Maude,  syth  thine  abode  at  St.  Agnes ; what  hast 
thou  learned  in  all  these  years  ? ” 

“I  can  read  Latin,  and  our  own  tongue,  too,  Lancelot? 

“ That  is  a marvel  for  a young  demoiselle.  What  sayest 
thou,  Eveline  ? ” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM* 


19 


The  merry-hearted  sister  blushed. 

“ 1 can  read  my  breviary,  Lancelot ; but  I trow  that  is  for 
vne  enough  of  learning.’' 

‘‘  Canst  write,  Maude  ? ” 

“ It  was  hardly  opposed  at  first,  but  our  aunt,  the  lady 
prioress,  said  yea,  at  last.” 

“Canst  write,  Eveline?”  said  her  brother,  with  a mis- 
chievous smile. 

“ Yea,  truly,  brother  mine ; I can  write  Eveline  de 
Vere.” 

“ What  is  thy  farther  learning,  Maude?” 

I can  play  on  the  harp  and  cithern ; and  so  can  Eve- 
ine.” 

“I  must  hear  thee  anon,  sister  mine;  but  go  on,  Maude, 
a baron’s  daughter  must  know  more  than  all  this.” 

“ I can  embroider ; and  so  can  Eveline.” 

“ Troublous  days  in  an  old  castle,  an'  it  be  beleaguered, 
call  for  sterner  work  than  music  and  'broiderie,  Maude.” 

“To  look  at  bleeding  limbs,  and  to  dress  them,  too,  we 
are  trained;  to  compound  medicines  and  to  nurse  the  sick; 
to  make  good  broth  and  grewal,  and  furmety,  and  such 
like.” 

“An'  that  be  so,  then  wilt  thou  be  high  in  favor  with 
Father  Ambrose,  for  he  liketh  these  savory  dishes.” 

Turning  to  his  aunt,  the  lady  prioress,  he  continued: 

“ I trow  that  these  fair  demoiselles  be  well  trained  for  the 
daughters  of  a feudal  baron ; for  troublous  days  may  be 
iH)on  us  ere  we  are  'ware  of  it.  But  come,  Maude,  let  ui 
hear  some  of  thy  music,” 


20 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


The  young  maiden  took  the  cithern  — a sweet  stringed 
instrument  suitable  for  an  accompaniment  to  the  voice  — 
in  her  hand,  and  in  a very  touching  manner  sang  the  oJd 
hymn  called  the  TJrhs  Beata, 

“Said  I not  that  thou  wouldst  be  our  saint,  fair  sis- 
ter ? said  her  brother ; “ for  thou  likest  the  old  hymns  yet. 
Now,  Eveline,  for  thine.” 

Tuning  the  instrument  to  a livelier  measure,  she  sang  one 
of  the  light  and  airy  songs  of  the  troubadours. 

“ That  suiteth  this  lower  world  better,  meseemeth,”  said 
her  brother ; “ the  hymns  of  the  old  saints  for  Maude,  but 
the  lays  of  Provence  for  Eveline.” 

A night’s  repose  in  the  quarters  appointed  prepared  the 
party  for  an  early  start. 

Their  aunt,  the  lady  * prioress,  was  to  bear  them  com- 
pany ; for  in  those  days  the  sisterhood  of  the  cloister  were 
not  immured  so  entirely  as  in  after  centuries,  for  they  were 
often  seen  at  tournaments,  banquets,  and  other  places  of 
worldly  enjoyment.  The  mettlesome  young  palfreys  stood 
at  the  gate  of  the  abbey,  champing  their  bits  and  pawing 
the  earth,  impatient  to  be  gone,  and  yet  the  young  maidens 
betrayed  no  fear  of  the  spirited  animals ; for  from  early  life 
the  children  of  the  nobles  were  accustomed  to  equestrian 
exercises. 

Close  by  the  side  of  Maude’s  palfrey  stood  a page  of 
eighteen  years,  waiting  to  assist  his  lady  to  mount. 

“ How  farest  thou,  good  Wilfred  ? ” said  the  damsel,  ex- 
tending her  hand,  and  turning  her  fair  young  face  to  the 
admiring  youth. 


21 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 

The  page,  bowing  in  deep  reverence  ovei  the  delicate 
hand,  replied  in  respectful  tones : 

. ‘‘Well,  my  lady,  and  happy  now  that  thou  comest  to 
Ravenscliff,  for  those  have  been  weary  days  without  the  fair 
Lady  Maude.” 

“ Thou  art  a good  boy,  Wilfred,”  replied  the  lady. 

The  page  raised  his  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  speaker,  evi- 
dently not  well  pleased  that  the  lovely  damsel  should  regard 
him  as  a boy. 

Placing  his  hand  upon  the  stirrup,  he  aided  Maude  to 
mount  with  a light,  graceful  spring,  rewarding  him  with 
her  own  sweet  smile.  Mounting  his  own  horse,  the  page 
took  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  men-at-arms  nearest  to  the 
Lady  Maude. 

It  was  a brilliant  cavalcade.  The  waving  of  the  gay 
plumes  of  the  young  esquires  in  the  sunlight,  the  four  ladies 
mounted  on  their  dancing  palfreys,  whose  silver  bells  upon 
their  bridles  kept  time  to  the  pacing  step  of  the  mettlesome 
animals,  all  combined  to  make  the  gay  cortege  a picture 
not  uncommon  in  those  mediseval  days,  the  music  of  you  h- 
ful  la\pghter  filling  the  air. 

We  find  Guy  de  Mowbray  by  the  side  of  his  youthfu 
companion,  trotting  on  at  d brisk  pace  over  the  green  hills 
and  by  the  border  of  silver  streams,  while  overhead  the 
bright  clouds  chased  each  other  through  the  firmament,  on 
this  sunny  day  in  spring,  in  such  fleecy  troops  a^  might  lead 
a bright  fancy  to  imagine  that  perchance  their  airy  grace 
might  veil  the  joyous  spirits  of  that  lovely  season. 

“Dost  remepiber  our  old  sports,  Maude?  ” said  her  com- 
panion. 


22 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Yes,  Guy ; but  those  young  days  come  not  again.  Dost 
know  aught  of  my  pretty  merlin  ? ” 

“ I saw  the  bird  not  long  syth.  Old  Ralph  the  falconer 
seemeth  to  favor  thine ; methinks  that  there  be  naught  to 
hinder  us  from  like  sports  again.  Dost  remember  our 
mimic  tournaments,  Maude,  when  thou  wast  the  queen  of 
love  and  beauty,  and  I the  crowned  knight  of  chivalry  ? ’’ 

“ Brave  and  joyous  were  those  early  days,  Guy.  The  lat- 
ter may  be  acted  again,  for  I look  to  see  thee  a brave  and 
gallant  knight.” 

Thus  the  two  beguiled  the  way  in  the  sweet  abandon  of 
youthful  confidence,  scarcely  noticing  the  castles  of  the  feu- 
dal barons,  and  only  occasionally  looking  back  at  the  party 
enlivened  by  Eveline’s  silvery  laugh  and  merry  sallies  of 
wit. 

They  have  just  reached  the  brow  of  a hill,  when  suddenly 
Maude  exclaims : 

There  standeth  proud  old  Ravenscliff,  Guy,  strong  and 
grand  as  ever!  for  marks  of  many  a siege  doth  she  bear 
upon  her  walls.  Nothing  pleaseth  my  father  better  than  to 
gather  ug  all  around  the  huge  fire,  when  the  winter  winda 
be  howling,  and  to  tell  us  of  the  brave  deeds  of  our  old  an^ 
cestors.  Even  the  old  stag-hound  at  his  feet  used  to  seem 
stirred  when  the  baron  was  in  these  moods.” 

“Thou  mayst  have  many  such  stories,  Maude,  for  here 
we  are  at  the  drawbridge.” 

A signal  from  the  cavalcade  brought  an  answer  from  the 
warder’s  tower,  and  in  a very  short  time  the  portcullis  was 
raised,  the  drawbridge  fell,  and  the  party  passed  in.  The 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


23 


warder’s  horn  liad  signalled  an  arrival  to  the  dwellers  in 
the  keep,  and  the  baron  and  his  lady,  with  Father  Ambrose 
and  old  Cicely,  were  in  waiting  in  the  banqueting-hall, 
ready  to  receive  the  company.  It  was  one  of  the  bright 
days  at  Ravenscliff;  for  strong  ties  of  love  bound  the  family, 
all  centring  their  pride  in  the  noble  baron,  whom  they 
esteemed  as  great  and  good  as  Godfrey  du  Bouillon. 

Tarrying  one  night  at  Ravenscliff,  the  De  Mowbrays  met 
the  household  at  breakfast,  saddened  by  the  thought  of 
separation. 

Soon  after  the  morning  meal,  we  find  Guy  and  Maude 
treading  the  dewy  path  that  led  to  the  pleasance,  — a favorik3 
walk  with  the  young  people  of  the  castle,  — the  fresh  morn- 
ing air  of  the  early  spring-time  imparting  a rosy  tint  to  the 
cheek  and  sparkling  brightness  to  the  full,  dark  eye  of  the 
young  damsel. 

Many  a time  had  they  trodden  this  grassy  path  together, 
Guy  leading  Maude  by  the  hand ; but  it  was  no  longer  a 
playful  child  that  sported  beside  him,  but  a blushing 
maiden  in  the  sweet  flush  of  young  womanhood  that,  with 
light  and  timid  footsteps,  entered  the  summer-house  at  the 
end  of  the  shaded  pathway. 

“ Dost  mind  how  time  passeth,  Maude  ? ” said  the  young 
man ; ‘‘  full  four  years  syth  we  sat  here  together.  Thou  wert 
then  gay  as  a singing  bird,  weaving  garlands  for  the  May- 
pole;  but  now  thine  eyes  be  full  of  deep  thoughts.  It 
seemeth  as  though  thou  hast  stepped  over  more  than  four 
years  syth  then.” 

Maude  smiled,  as  she  replied : 


24 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“It  seemeth  so  to  me,  Guy;  and  no  easy  task,  I trow, 
would  it  be  to  tell  thee  the  visions  that  haunt  me  day  by 
day/’ 

“I  have  counted  the  years,  Maude,  then  the  nnmths,  and 
of  late  the  days,  that  would  bring  thee  back  to  Ravenscliff ; 
but,  Maude,  I much  fear  that  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth  per- 
mitteth  not  the  return  of  the  pleasant  days  that  we  have 
passed  together.” 

“ I pray  thee  tell  me  why,  Guy ; for  it  would  grieve  me 
sore  an’  that  should  be  so.” 

“ The  baron  liketh  not  thy  father,  Maude.  It  hath  been 
said  that  they  crossed  each  other’s  path  in  love,  — and  my 
father  forgiveth  not  an  injury ; but  it  parteth  us  not ; doth 
it,  Maude  ? ” 

“ I trow  that  cannot  be,  Guy,  unless  thou  wiliest  it.” 

Guy  turned  his  dark  eye  tenderly  upon  Maude’s  face,  as 
he  replied,  in  tones  of  deep  feeling : 

“ Wiliest  it,  Maude  ? Thinkest  thou,  sweet  one,  that  it 
be  an  easy  task  to  blot  out  the  memory  of  childish  days  ? 
And  now  that  I once  more  see ' thy  fair  face,  Maucie,  it  be 
painted  here  upon  my  heart,  never  to  be  dimmed  by  passing 
years.  Knowest  thou  this  trinket,  Maude  ? ” (drawing  from 
its  hiding-place  a small  bracelet.) 

The  maiden  blushed,  as  she  replied : 

“Well  do  I mind  the  day  when,  in  the  tilt-yard,  I gave 
it  to  thee,  years  agone,  when  thou  wast  a crowned  knight, 
Guy.” 

And  thus  the  two  beguiled  the  passing  hour  in  that  sweet 
converse  of  youthful  hearts  until  the  sight  of  the  palfreys, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


25 


brought  out  in  front  of  tlie  castle,  signalled  the  hour  of  de- 
parture near  at  hand. 

Slowly  the  two  trod  the  grassy  path  back  to  the  keep, 
and,  after  sorrowful  farewells,  the  party  took  their  leave  of 
the  castle.  Maude  looked  pensively  after  the  little  retinue 
as  it  passed  out  of  the  inner  ballium  and  disappeared  from 
sight,  wondering  when  she  should  greet  the  young  faces 
again.  Very  thoughtful  was  the  young  damsel  all  the  rest 
of  the  day;  for  Guy’s  visit  had  disturbed  the  surface  of 
Maude’s  pure  thoughts;  and  the  sweet  murmur  of  his  low- 
spoken  words  lingered  long  around  her  pillow,  after  her 
usual  hour  of  rest,  like  tender  music,  lulling  her  to  sleep 
with  unformed,  dreamy  visions  of  the  border-land  of  young 
womanhood  — sweet  dreams,  whose  shadows  have  no  name ; 
ireams  that  visit  the  young  maiden  but  once. 

A 


CHAPTER  II. 


RAVENSCLIFF, 


NE  scarcely  realizes  now  what  England  was  in  the 


dark  days  of  the  Middle  Ages.  We  travel  delighted 
amid  its  highly  cultivated  lands,  surrounded  on  all  sides  by 
features  of  beauty,  and  may  well  call  the  island  kingdom  a 
lovely  garden,  with  its  magnificent  modern  castles,  its  sylvan 
parks,  its  picturesque  cottages,  its  hawthorn  hedges,  its  lux- 
uriance of  flowers  in  the  early  spring,  — not  a vestige  now 
remaining  of  the  extensive  domains  once  inhabited  by  the 
rude  barons  of  feudal  times,  save  a few  ancient  ruins,  with 
an  occasional  castle  kept  in  something  of  its  former  style, 
and  the  grand  old  monarchs  of  the  forest  that  have  outlived 
the  reigns  of  many  buried  kings. 

The  long-protracted  state  of  savage  society  had  brought 
in  the  feudal  system,  and  had  built  throughout  the  kingdom 
the  strong  fortifications  known  as  the  castles  of  the  Norman 
barons,  where,  like  petty  kings,  they  ruled  their  vassals. 

We  will  travel  around  the  battlements  of  one  of  these  old 
fortresses  in  the  north  of  England.  Built  upon  a command- 
ing eminence,  it  might  well  be  called  a clifi*  and  on  the 
borders  of  a vast  forest  where  ravens  built  their  nests  when 
it  was  first  erected,  it  was  well  named  Ravenscliff.  It  was 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


27 


one  of  the  strongest  and  grandest  of  these  old  castles,  with 
high  embankments  crowned  with  battlements,  and  flanked 
l)j  circular  bastions  in  the  angles  formed  by  the  walls. 
Tliese  massy  walls  were  pierced  for  gates,  with  drawbridges, 
and  towers  on  each  side,  very  strong,  and  further  guarded 
by  descending  gratings  called  a portcullis.  The  walls  were 
surrounded  by  a moat  as  a further  defence  from  the  attacks 
of  enemies.  There  was  also  the  barbican,  — a raised  mound 
or  tower,  — the  outer  walls  having  terraces  toward  the  castle. 
The  gate-house  was  flanked  with  towers  and  crowned  with 
projections,  through  which  heavy  missiles  or  molten  lead 
were  dropped  on  the  heads  of  the  assailants.  The  outer 
ballium  was  a large  space  containing  the  lodgings  of  the 
soldiers,  blacksmiths,  carpenters,  and  other  artificers,  and 
also  the  extensive  stables  of  a feudal  baron. 

The  inner  ballium  contained  the  garden  where  the  don- 
jon, or  keep,  was  situated,  — the  stronghold  inhabited  by  the 
baron  and  his  retinue,  — added  to  which  was  the  chapel,  and 
under  the  keep,  the  dungeon,  where  prisoners  were  confined. 

In  the  central  part  of  the  keep  were  the  state  apartments, 
situated  in  the  third  story,  having  large  windows  placed  high 
in  the  lofty  rooms,  to  secure  the  occupants  against  weapons 
discharged  from  without. 

'There  were  huge  ornamented  fire-places  and  pillars  in  the 
walls  of  the  state  apartments ; rude  enough,  however,  at  the 
best. 

The  two  lower  stories  had  no  windows,  but  were  merely 
lighted  from  loop-holes.  Nothing  could  be  more  uncom^ 
fortable  than  the  sleeping-rooms,  which  were  only  little 


28 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


dark  recesses  on  the  winding  stairs  leading  to  the  battle* 
ments. 

We  will  drop  a few  words  now  about  the  lord  of  this  feu- 
dal castle. 

Reginald  de  Vere,  Bkron  of  Ravenscliff,  was  a knight  of 
rare  qualities  of  heart  and  mind,  with  a noble  form  and 
face,  and,  according  to  the  code  of  chivalry,  of  the  highest 
order  among  the  Norman  knighthood.  From  earliest  youth 
lie  had  studied  the  character  of  that  prince  among  knights, 
Godfrey  du  Bouillon.  Brave  in  the  battle-field,  generous  to 
his  enemies,  the  soul  of  honor  and  truth,  gentle,  tender,  and 
courteous  to  the  fair  sex,  devoted  to  the  Holy  Church,  in 
whose  service  he  was  ready  to  yield  his  life,  he  had  gathered 
around  him  the  very  flower  of  chivalry,  who  almost  wor- 
shipped the  Baron  of  Ravensclifi*.  His  vassals  outside 
respected  their  feudal  master,  who,  though  they  retained  the 
old  Saxon  animosity  to  their  conquerors,  still  were  obliged 
to  do  justice  to  the  man  who  in  times  of  peace  was  the  friend 
and  benefactor  of  all  his  people. 

So  we  find  him  in  days  of  trouble  and  distress  ministering 
to  their  necessities,  often  sending  the  Lady  Jaqueline  on 
errands  of  mercy  to  the  huts  of  the  peasantry.  It  is  true 
that  he  was  a petty  king  among  them ; but  he  did  not  abuse 
his  power ; for  we  do  not  find  the  mothers  of  the  young 
Saxons,  like  those  of  Palestine,  terrifying  them  with  the  cry 
that  ‘‘  Richard  was  in  the  bush  ; ” but  rather  it  was  no  un- 
common thing,  when  the  baron  passed  by  with  his  men-at- 
arms,  to  hear  them  say,  ‘‘Come  out,  la  Is,  the  good  baron 
passeth  by.^’  Encouraged  by  his  kindly  smile,  the  urchins 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


29 


were  not  afraid  to  clasp  the  foot  within  the  stirrup,  when- 
ever he  stopped  at  the  doors  of  the  peasants.  But,  like  other 
good  men,  the  baron  had  his  enemies ; none  more  implaca- 
ble than  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth,  — a dark,  revengeful 
man,  who  dwelt  in  his  castle  in  sullen  grandeur.  In  early 
days  the  Lord  of  Ravenscliff  had  crossed  his  path  in  love ; 
for  the  Lady  Jaqueline  had  refused  the  hand  of  Richard 
de  Mowbray,  and  accepted  Reginald  de  Vere.  From  that 
day  the  former  had  been  his  deadly  foe ; but,  having  mar- 
ried cousins,  the  two  families  had  maintained  some  kind  of 
intercourse,  kept  up  chiefly  by  the  young  people. 

The  wealth  and  popularity  of  the  Lord  of  Ravenscliff*  had 
but  increased  the  animosity,  which  showed  itself  in  coldness 
and  alienation  ; sometimes,  in  a freak  of  sullenness,  forbid- 
ding all  intercourse  between  the  two  families.  But,  strange 
to  say,  Eveline  de  Vere  had  always  maintained  her  influ- 
ence over  the  rude  Lord  of  Hawksworth, — no  one  knew 
wherefore,  unless  it  were  the  strong  likeness  between  herself 
and  the  Lady  Jaqueline, — therefore  she  counted  upon  her 
power  to  bring  her  cousins  speedily  to  Ravenscliff*. 

Maude  took  but  little  interest  in  the  merriment  around, 
being  more  occupied  with  the  services  at  the  chapel,  and 
the  feminine  occupations  of  the  day.  She  excelled  upon  the' 
harp,  and  devoted  much  time  to  improvement  upon  the 
instrument ; for  it  was  her  father’s  favorite ; and  we  find  her 
one  day  entertaining  l^m  with  her  music,  choosing  that 
which  pleased  him  best. 

Our  Lady  calls.  To  arms!  to  armsl 
For  Moslems  hold  the  land 


so 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAII. 


Where  lies  the  body  of  our  Lord, 

And  we  like  cravens  stand. 

To  arms!  to  arms  I our  Lady  oalli. 

Our  Lady  calls.  Arise  ! arise ! 

Gird  on  thine  armor  bright: 

She  needs  the  sword  and  battle-axe 
Of  every  valiant  knight. 

Our  Lady  calls.  Arise!  arise! 

Our  Lady  calls.  Her  battle  - cry 
Is  ringing  through  the  world. 

Let  every  banner  in  the  land 
Be  speedily  unfurled. 

Our  Lady  calls.  To  arms ! to  arms  I 

Our  Mother  calls.  Heed  not  the  team 
Shed  in  a lady’s  bower; 

Let  the  shrill  trumpet  sound  the  blast 
From  every  castle  tower. 

Our  Lady  calls.  To  arms ! to  arms  ( 

Our  Lady  calls.  The  loyal  heart, 
Beneath  a maiden’s  breast, 

Bids  father,  brother,  lover  go 
To  lo  our  Lord’s  behest. 

Our  Lady  calls.  To  arms ! to  arms ! 

Our  Lady  calls.  You  give  your  life; 
And  we  for  holy  cross 

Give  all  we  love  in  this  dark  world. 
Nor  count  its  treasure  loss. 

Our  Lady  calls.  We  go  I we  go! 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


31 


Where  didst  Icarii  that  song,  Maude?”  inquired  the 
oaron. 

Maude  blushed,  as  she  replied : 

“ It  is  mine  own,  father.” 

“ Sayest  thou  so,  Maude?  Thine  own  I music  and  worlds, 
too  ? ” 

“ Both,  father,  by  my  troth.” 

Thou  seemest  almost  inspired,  Maude.  Methinketh  that 
the  troubles  in  the  Holy  Land  inspire  the  dullest.” 

The  return  of  the  young  maidensi  to  their  home  was  quite 
a stirring  event  at  the  castle,  and  the  Lady  Jaqueline  had 
been  for  some  time  preparing  for  their  coming. 

Father  Ambrose,  too,  partook  of  the  general  joy  ; for  he 
remembered  Maude  as  a devout,  intelligent  child  for  those 
dark  days,  and  much  attached  to  the  old  friar. 

Accordingly,  we  find  him  joining  the  young  maiden  after 
early  matins. 

“ Where  loitereth  thy  sister,  Maude  ? ” said  the  old  priest. 

“ Eveline  complaineth  of  weariness,  father.  Methinketh 
that  she  careth  more  for  sleep  than  for  the  rites  of  Holy 
Church.” 

‘‘  The  blessing  of  the  Holy  Virgin  be  with  thee,  Maude ; 
for  a faithful  daughter  thou  seemest.” 

‘‘  Dost  see  niy  breviary,  father  ? It  hath  been  blessed  by 
our  Holy  Father  the  Pope  himseT.” 

The  friar  crossed  himself  as  he  touched  the  book. 

‘‘  A holy  gift,  Maude ! Mayst  thou  use  it  well ! ” 

‘‘  I wish  that  I might  read  the  holy  Gospel,  father  ; what 
aindereth  ? I can  read  the  English  tongue.” 


32 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


. “ There  be  quite  enow  for  women  in  the  breviary,  Maude ; 
why  troublest  thou  thyseF  about  hard  things  ? Go  to  thy 
’broiderie  and  thy  harp,  child/’ 

‘‘  Meliketh  both,  holy  father ; but  there  seem  higher 
things  for  God’s  children ; for  thou  sayest  that  holy  baptism 
maketh  us  all  his  children.” 

The  priest  turned  his  eyes  inquiringly  upon  Maude’s 
earnest  face,  wondering  what  strange  thoughts  were  stirring 
the  depths  of  the  young  spirit.  Maude  wondered  too  ; for 
she  knew  not  yet  the  name  of  the  invisible  teacher  that 
Jesus  left  to  his  ransomed  Church.  She  knew  not  yet  that 
God,  in  all  ages  of  the  world,  had  his  hidden  ones.  Would 
that  she  could  have  read  the  blessed  words : 

“ My  sheep  hear  my  voice,  and  I know  them,  and  they 
follow  me : 

“ And  I give  unto  them  eternal  life ; and  they  shall  never 
perish,  neither  shall  any  man  pluck  them  out  of  my  hand.” 

The  priest  continued : 

“ Trouble  not  thysel’,  Maude,  about  things  too  hard  for 
thee.  Be  content  with  teachings  of  Holy  Church.  Now 
hie  thee  to  thy  bower -woman,  and  adorn  thysel’  as  be- 
cometh  a maiden  of  high  degree;  but  forget  not  my  dish 
of  furmety.” 

‘‘  Meliketh  to  do  thy  bidding,  father ; but  an’  the  Gospel 
be  God’s  word,  it  seemeth  to  me  plain  enow  that  it  cometh 
for  all  his  children,  just  like  unto  the  sun  and  rain,  father, 
which  shineth  and  falleth  on  all  alike ; and  the  Gospel 
seemeth  a higher  gift.” 

*‘Thou  talkest  about  things  too  hard  for  thee,  Mauda 


MAUPE  and  MIRIAM. 


33 


Gk),  sely*  wench,  to  thy  woman’s  work  and  thy  girlish  sporta 
It  becometh  thee  to  look  after  thy  merlin  and  thy  gauds, 
Maude.  Thy  mother,  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  hath  a goodly 
store  of  ‘women’s  gear,  just  from  London;  an’  thy  bright 
eyes  look  once  on  the  fair  tunics  and  kirtles,  thou  forgettest 
the  old  Gospel.” 

Maude  walked  away  with  a solemn  step,  wondering  if  tii-a 
Gospel,  sent  down  from  heaven,  could  be  placed  by  the  side 
of  the  glittering  gauds  of  girlish  vanity. 

‘‘  Nay,  nay,  Father  Ambrose,”  thought  Maude,  “ an’  it 
cometh  from  heaven,  it  hath  more  value  than  diamonds  or 
precious  stones.”  ^ 

After  a substantial  Norman  breakfast,  where  there  were 
wine  and  ale  and  meats  in  abundance,  we  meet  the  Lady 
Jaqueline  in  her  own  private  bower,  surrounded  by  her 
damsels,  of  whom  there  were  a goodly  number. 

There  was  no  little  excitement  among  the  young  maidens 
when  the  Lady  Jaqueline  brought  out  the  numerous  pur- 
chases for  the  sisters.  Holding  a white  silk  kirtle  in  her 
hand,  she  said : 

Dost  like  this  pretty  kirtle,  Maude  ? Soothly  it  becom- 
«th  thee  well,  with  its  silver  trimming,  and  this  tunic  of  / 
pale  blue  silk.  The  queen  hersel’  weareth  no  finer,  I 
trow.” 

“ It  seemeth  just  what  suiteth  royal  maidens ; but,  mothei 
mine,  damsels  in  this  old  castle,  so  far  from  courts,  need  not 
such  brave  attire.” 

“How  sayest  thou,  Maude?  Thou  mayest  visit  the  court 

* Foolish. 

0 


34 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


of  England,  Maude ; for  King  Richard  knoweth  thy  iGEithei 
as  a true  and  loyal  baron/' 

Eveline  was  in  raptures  over  a suit  of  pink  and  green, 
trimmed  in  like  manner. 

Then  was  displayed  another  of  rich  velvet,  trimmed  with 
miniver ; then  came  elegant  head-dresses  of  costly  material, 
followed  by  magnificent  jewels,  and  all  the  superb  array 
common  amon.g  the  nobles. 

Quickly  attired  in  the  pink  and  green,  Eveline  dropped 
a curtsey  before  her  mother,  saying : 

“What  thinkest  thou,  mother  mine?  We  must  needs 
display  this  brave  attire.  Our  birthday  draweth  nigh  ; we 
must  spread  a banquet  for  the  day.  Guy  and  Alice  sit  at 
that  table,  I ween.  Beshrew  me ! an’  they  come  not  to  the 
banquet ; an’  it  pleaseth  thee,  Lancelot  and  Maude  joineth 
the  retinue  to  Hawksworth,  and  Wilfred  d’Arcy  carrieth 
the  invitation  on  the  dagger’s  point.  Eveline  returneth  not 
without  consent  from  the  grim  baron.” 

“Thy  fancy  pleaseth  me  well,  Eveline.  What  sayeth 
Maude?  ” 

“What  pleaseth  my  good  mother,  pleaseth  me;  but  more 
quiet  sports  than  banquetings  suit  me  better.” 

The  morning  was  spent  in  examining  particularly  the 
elegant  wardrobe;  Eveline  and  the  other  young  damsels  in 
raptures  over  the  luxurious  display. 

Dost  know,  Lady  Eveline,  that  there  hath  been  much 
talk  of  a tournament  ? ” said  Gertrude  Ellerton  ; “ the  young 
xnights  alread}  repair  their  armor,  and  practise  daily  in  the 
tilt-yard.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


35 


**  A touriuiiuent ! ” exclaimed  Eveline.  “ The  very  tidings 
that  most  please  me ! Seemeth  it  lonely  in  this  great  cas- 
tle, Gertrude  ? ’’ 

I trow  not,”  was  the  reply ; **  for  with  the  damsels  wait- 
ing upon  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  the  pages,  esquires,  and 
knights,  there  lacketh  not  good  company  even  in  this  great 
fortress.  Then  there  come  the  hawking  and  hunting,  our 
Christmas  sports,  and  the  visits  of  the  troubadours  from 
France.  Who  talketh  of  loneliness  at  Kavenscliff ? ” said 
the  young  lady,  looking  around  upon  her  companions. 

A smile  passed  over  the  young  faces  as  the  voices  echoed : 

“ Not  I ! not  I ! nor  I ! Lonely,  indeed  ! with  all  these 
brave  pages  and  esquires.” 

In  a few  days,  Lancelot  came  with  the  intelligence  that 
a party  was  proposed  to  go  on  a hawking  expedition ; and 
a goodly  company  of  young  ladies  and  esquires  appeared 
in  the  inner  ballium,  equipped  for  the  sport. 

It  was  one  of  the  brightest  of  May  mornings,  — a time 
when  the  delightful  brilliancy  of  the  day,  the  temperature 
of  the  air,  and  the  joyous  work  of  tillage  seen  in  every  direc- 
tion, made  the  temptation  to  out-door  sports  irresistible. 

It  was  a gallant  sight,  — the  grooms  and  equerries,  the 
young  esquires  in  their  bright  attire,  and  the  ladies  with 
their  plumes  waving  in  the  brisk  wind,  and  a hooded  hawk 
perched  upon  each  delicate  wrist.  Kalph/the  falconer  re- 
membered that  it  had  been  some  time  since  the  young  dam- 
sels had  engaged  in  this  sport,  and  therefore  took  some 
pains  to  instruct  them  as  to  the  mode,  of  holding  the  hawk, 
and  throwing  her  ofl'the  wrist 


36 


MAUDE  AND  MI  HI  AM. 


In  merry  chat  the  party  wound  their  way  out  of  the  ca*- 
tie  gate,  over  the  drawbridge,  cantering  on  at  a brisk  rate 
down  by  the  banks  of  the  river,  carefully  looking  on  every 
side  for  the  game ; but  no  heron  was  visible,  although  there 
was  a heronry  not  far  off.  For  some  time  it  seemed  as 
though  the  party  were  doomed  to  disappointment,  but  not 
fancying  the  ridicule  of  the  pages  left  behind,  they  were  for 
perseverance.  Ralph  understood  the  dilemma,  and  spoke : 

“ An’  the  ladies  like  a ride  of  three  miles  farther,  me- 
thinketh  that  the  long-shanked  birds  meet  us  mere  in  num- 
bers that  stir  up  the  hawks  to  cancelier  till  their  brains 
reel.” 

“ Onward,  my  merry  knights ! ” said  Eveline  de  Vere. 
“ It  hath  been  a long  season  syth  such  a hawking  party 
starteth  from  Ravenscliff.” 

“ Onward ! onward ! ” echoed  other  young  voices,  bent 
upon  success. 

Maude  rode  forward  on  her  lively  jennet  as  light  as  a lark, 
the  plumes  in  her  riding-bonnet  dancing  in  the  wind ; the 
attendants  near,  with  dogs,  pouches,  lines,  and  all  other 
appurtenances  of  the  royal  sport. 

“ Thy  merlin  seemeth  a splendid  bird,  Maude,”  said  her 
brother. 

“She  looketh  gay  and  fierce  as  ever,”  was  the  answer 
“ See  what  broad  shoulders,  and  how  vigorously  she  rouseth 
hersel’ ; an’  I dare  remove  her  hood,  I could  show  thee  eyes 
full,  fierce,  and  dark  as  the  boldest.” 

Advancing  still  further  up  the  stream,  it  suddenly  turned 
on  one  side,  forming  a mountain  lake,  or  tarn. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


87 


On  the  side  next  to  the  falconers  arose  a ridge  of  gray 
rock;  on  the  opposite,  a heathy  hill,  whose  fresh  spring  car- 
pet looked  soft  as  green  velvet,  crowned  with  bushes  of  the 
same  bright  color. 

A broad  beach  of  sand  extended  around  the  lake,  forming 
a fine  opportunity  to  the  rider  to  exercise  and  breathe  hife 
horse.  And  here  the  party  rested,  looking  anxiously 
around  for  the  heron,  but  as  yet  none  were  in  sight ; but 
out  in  the  stream  lay  immersed  some  rocky  masses  forming 
small  islets,  and,  standing  m one,  Ealph  perceived  the  heron 
that  they  had  sought  so  long.  Eager  expectation  was  now 
at  its  greatest  height,  and  several  impulsive  spirits  were  in 
haste  to  make  a movement. 

“ Now  silence ! said  the  falconer,  ‘‘  until  the  proper  time 
for  starting  the  bird.’^ 

Sad  and  solitary  the  heron  stood  on  a stone,  watching  for 
such  small  fish  as  might  pass  along,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  ambuscade  plotting  his  destruction. 

A few  low  brief  words  as  to  the  best  mode  of  starting  the 
quarry  were  anxiously  discussed,  as  if  some  great  enterprise 
hung  upon  the  issue. 

4t  a signal  from  the  falconer,  the  party  began  to  advance 
upon  the  heron,  who,  now  for  the  first  time  aware  of  their 
presence,  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  erected  his  long, 
thin  neck,  spread  out  his  broad  wings,  uttered  his  harsh, 
clanging  cry,  and  projecting  his  length  of  thin  legs  behind 
him,  rose  upon  the  breeze. 

Ralph  was  near  Maude,  whose  hawk  was  unhooded  that 
she  might  see  the  quarry. 

4 


38 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Now  is  tlic  tiiTie/^  said  the  falconer,  as  Maude  threw  oflf 
the  bird,  encouraged  by  one  loud  whoop  from  the  falconers. 
Eager  as  a war-horse  rushes  to  the  battle,  so  darted  the 
fierce  falcon  toward  her  enemy,  while  the  heron  exerted  all 
his  powers  to  escape  from  his  formidable  foe. 

Plying  all  his  strength,  he  ascended  higher  and  higher 
in  the  air  by  short  gyrations,  that  the  falcon  might  not 
pounce  upon  him ; while  his  spiked  beak,  at  the  extremity 
of  his  long  neck,  enabled  him  to  strike  at  a yard’s  distance. 

Then  Eveline  threw  off  her  hawk,  encouraged  by  the 
halloos  of  the  falconers,  to  join  her  companion.  Both  were 
bept  upon  mounting  by  small  circles,  endeavoring  to  gain 
that  superior  height  which  the  heron,  too,  was  bent  upon 
preserving.  To  the  delight  of  the  spectators,  the  fight  was 
continued  until  all  three  were  nearly  mingled  with  the 
fleecy  clouds,  from  which  was  heard  the  harsh,  plaintive 
cry  of  the  quarry,  appealing,  as  it  were,  to  the  heaven  which 
he  was  approaching,  against  the  cruelty  of  those  by  whom 
he  was  persecuted. 

At  length  one  of  the  hawks  had  reached  a height  from 
which  she  attempted  her  attack  upon  the  heron,  who  so 
(Mimiingly  defended  himself,  that  he  received  the  blow  of 
the  hawk  on  his  beak,  thus  spiking  the  body  of  one  of  his 
fierce  enemies,  wlio  fell  fluttering  into  the  lake,  and  perished 
there. 

But  the  remaining  bird,  avenging  the  fate  of  her  sister, 
assailed  him  on  the  other  wing.  The  falcon  thus  succeeding 
in  binding  his  prey,  both  came  tumbling  down  togethei 
from  a great  height  in  the  air. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


39 


The  next  great  object  was  for  the  falconers  to  come  in  to 
the  rescue  in  time  to  prevent  the  heron  from  wounding  the 
bird,  either  by  his  sharp  beak  or  talons ; and  the  whole 
party  — the  men  setting  their  spurs,  and  the  ladies  switch- 
ing their  palfreys  — flew  like  the  wind  to  the  scene  of  con- 
flict. There  lay  the  heron  and  falcon  in  the  mortal  struggle 
upon  the  green  moss,  the  wing  of  the  heron  having  been 
broken  by  the  stoop  of  the  former.  The  falconers  were  jusi 
in  time  to  save  the  hawk,  by  thrusting  the  heron’s  beak  into 
the  earth,  and  breaking  his  legs,  thus  permitting  the  falcon 
to  dispatch  him  on  easy  terms.  Neither  sex  nor  station 
allowed  of  interference  here,  although  Maude’s  tender, 
womanly  instincts  felt  the  cruelty  of  such  barbarous  sport ; 
but  the  savage  spirit  of  those  early  times  still  lingered  in 
their  sports  as  well  as  in  the  battle-field.  It  is  for  a higher 
development  of  true  Christianity,  by  which  all  the  wrongs 
of  God’s  creation  are  to  be  righted. 

We  Christians  of  the  nineteenth  century  need  not  lift  our 
hands  in  holy  horror  at  such  sports ; for  have  we  no  human 
falcons  in  Christian  countries  allowed  to  engage  in  strife 
more  revolting,  where  even  human  blood  is  shed  ? Have  we 
no  literature,  no  dramas,  which  encourage  such  brutal  sports  ? 

But  so  much  has  education  to  do  with  our  moral  sense, 
that  Maude,  gentle  as  she  was,  applauded  the  brave  flilcon 
when  she  took  her  once  more  upon  her  wrist. 

Thou  seemest  brave  as  an  eagle,  my  pet,”  said  the  young 
lady,  smoothing  the  ruffled  plumage,  the  bird  meanwhile 
proudly  lifting  up  her  head,  and  raising  her  feathers,  as 
though  exultant  over  her  victory. 


40 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


A merry  ride  home  along  the  shady  road  completed  the 
day^s  enjoyment ; much  clouded,  however,  to  Maude,  when 
she  thought  alone  of  the  piercing  cries  of  the  hunted  heron. 
Close  to  the  Lady  Maude’s  jennet,  throughout  the  day, 
had  rode  Wilfred  the  page,  eagerly  treasuring  every  light 
word  spoken  to  him  personally,  to  dream  at  night  of  the 
bright  smile  with  which  she  had  thanked  him,  as  he  aided 
her  to  dismount  at  the  entrance  to  the  castle. 

Note.  It  is  but  proper  to  state  that  the  main  features  of  thii 
hawking  expedition  have  been  gathered  from  Sir  Walter  Sooti. 


CHAPTER  III. 


GAY  BESIEGERS. 

SEPTEMBER  has  passed,  and  now  the  purple  tint  of  the 
^ hills  has  faded  into  russet  gray.  The  young  demoiselles 
are  elated  with  the  thought  of  a birthday  banquet, — Eve- 
line for  the  glitter  and  the  merry-making ; Maude  that,  per- 
chance, it  bringeth  Guy  and  Alice  to  Ravenscliff. 

“ What  sayest  thou,  good  mother  ? ” said  Eveline ; wilt 
strike  hands  that  I bring  not  Guy  and  Alice  to  the  ban- 
quet?'' 

The  Lady  Jaqueline  smiled,  as  she  replied : 

‘‘Thou  hast  strange  power  over  the  grim  Baron  of 
Hawksworth,  Eveline ; but  there  is  my  wager,’’  laying,  at  the 
same  time,  a diamond  ring  upon  the  table. 

“ There  layeth  mine,”  replied  the  maiden,  gayly,  throwing 
an  embroidered  veil  over  the  lady’s  face.  “Ye  are  all  wit- 
nesses, demoiselles.” 

It  is  a gay  party  that  is  seen  trotting  out  over  the  bal- 
lium,  through  the  gate,  and  crossing  the  drawbridge;  the 
last  word  greeting  Eveline’s  ear  as  her  father  waved 
adieu  : 

“ Success  attend  the  gay  besiegers  of  the  Baron  of  Bawkg* 
worth.” 

4^ 


42 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Eveline  waved  her  riding- whip,  and  tossed  her  gay 
plumes,  as  she  bowed  her  graceful  head  in  reply. 

Lancelot.  Maude,  Eveline,  and  Wilfred  d’Arcy,  the  ladiesf 
page,  headed  the  cavalcade,  followed  by  a dozen  men-at- 
arms  ; for  such  a thing  was  never  heard  of  in  thofe  rude 
days  as  ladies  travelling  unattended.  Passing  by  many  of 
the  plain  dwellings  of  the  Saxon  gentry,  and  the  rude  huts 
of  the  peasantry,  we  find  them  at  the  close  of  the  day, 
after  a ride  of  twenty  miles,  on  the  borders  of  a deep  forest 
that  belonged  to  the  domain  of  Hawksworth,  where  the 
sports  of  the  chase  were  frequently  enjoyed. 

We  must  ride  on  the  borders  of  the  wood,’^  said  Lance- 
lot ; “ for  wild  animals  abound  here,  an’  I trow  that  we  be 
not  prepared  for  hunting.” 

“ Hist ! ” said  Eveline.  “ What  stirreth  in  the  bushes  ? ” 

In  the  next  minute,  a gallant  deer  suddenly  started  out 
of  the  deep  brushwood,  and  fixing  her  startled  eyes  one 
moment  upon  the  company,  with  one  swift  bound  darted 
into  the  thick  wood,  and  was  speedily  lost  to  sight. 

‘‘  What  a splendid  creature ! ” said  Wilfred.  Shall  we 
pursue  her  ? ” 

“I  trow  not,”  was  Lancelot’s  reply.  ‘‘We  should  have 
the  baron’s  wrath  about  our  ears  in  a trice.” 

Emerging  from  the  forest,  the  dark  towers  of  Hawksworth 
were  in  sight.  Not  so  extensive  as  Eavenscliff,  we  see  an- 
other cause  of  the  envy  of  the  more  prosperous  baron  on 
the  neighboring  estate. 

A summons  at  the  portcullis  brought  an  answer  from  the 
warder,  who  speedily  admitted  the  party,  soon  joined  in  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


43 


muer  ballium  by  the  baron  himself.  The  spirit  of  chivalry 
so  far  controlled  the  knight  as  to  make  his  reception  cour- 
teoua,  if  not  cordial.  Accordingly,  we  find  the  baron  gal- 
lantly aiding  Eveline  to  dismount,  and  leading  the  party 
forward  into  the  castle,  where  we  find  Guy  and  the  Lady 
Alice  ready  to  extend  a joyous  welcome. 

‘‘  It  hath  been  a long  season  syth  we  clasped  hands  in  this 
old  castle,  Maude,’’  said  Guy  de  Mowbray,  “ an’  I feared 
that  thou  wouldst  not  come  again ; but  the  old  years  seem 
blotted  out,  and  we  stand  in  the  sunshine  of  childhood  once 
more.” 

Just  then  Wilfred  d’Arcy  advanced  to  the  baron,  extend- 
ing; the  invitation  on  the  point  of  a small  silver  - hilted 
dagger. 

A slight  shade  passed  over  his  face,  as  he  replied  : 

“ The  Baron  of  Kavensclifi*  careth  not  for  my  presence, 
forsooth ! ” 

‘‘Thou  deniest  not  the  Lady  Alice  and  Blanche  and 
Guy?”  said  Eveline. 

“ I promise  naught  rashly,”  was  the  reply ; “ but  let  us 
hasten  to  the  Lady  Edith,”  whom  they  found  in  the  ban- 
queting-hall,  with  Blanche  de  Lacy,  an  orphan  child  of  a 
deceased  sister  of  the  Lady  of  Hawksworth.  Very  frail  and 
lovely  was  the  little  maiden,  who,  although  sixteen  years  of 
age,  appeared  no  more  than  twelve,  so  small,  so  fragile,  was 
the  child,  with  a skin  fair  as  a lily,  eyes  blue  as  the  sky,  and, 
most  remarkable  of  all,  a wealth  of  flaxen  hair  that  envel- 
oped her  as  a golden  veil.  Timid,  sensitive,  shrinking,  she 
stood  aside  for  some  miputes  ere  noticed  by  the  visitors. 


44 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Art  a real  fairy,  Blanche,”  said  Eveline,  as  she  kissed 
the  fair  cheek.  “ Why,  thou  hast  not  grown  an  inch,  me- 
thinks,  syth  last  we  played  ‘ hunt  the  slipper  * in  the  old 
hall  on  Christmas  Eve.” 

“ Thou  mistakest,  Lady  Eveline,”  was  the  reply  of  the 
little  maiden,  with  an  air  of  offended  dignity ; “ for  none 
of  my  kirtles  and  tunics  fit  me  now  that  were  large  enow 
then,  forsooth ! ” 

The  Lady  Edith  gave  a cordial  greeting ; but  the  three 
touched  the  thin,  pale  hand  with  feelings  of  pain,  as  they 
looked  at  the  wasted  form  of  the  Lady  of  Hawksworth  A 
plentiful  repast  was  soon  spread  in  the  banqueting-hall,  and 
the  weary  party  did  ample  justice  to  the  refreshment, — by  no 
means  a tea-drinking  of  modern  times ; for  real  substantial 
fare  was  heartily  enjoyed  by  the  Norman  ladies  of  those 
feudal  days. 

The  Baron  of  Hawksworth  was  fond  of  the  chase,  and 
finding  Eveline  willing  to  listen,  he  entertained  her  with  a 
tedious  account  of  a deer  hunt  that  had  just  come  off  with 
great  success ; Lancelot  and  Maude  smiling  at  the  grave  de- 
corum and  absorbing  interest  with  which  Eveline  appeared 
to  listen,  and  the  baron  himself  highly  flattered  by  the 
young  damsel’s  attention  to  his  story. 

“There  hang  the  horns,”  said  the  baron,  proudly,  pointing 
to  a set  of  fine  antlers  that  were  suspended  over  the  door  of 
entrance  to  the  hall. 

Then  came  the  music  to  enliven  the  evening  ; for  Eveline 
intended  this  as  the  battery  with  which  to  storm  the  baron. 
She  played  delightfully  on  the  lute,  accompanying  it  with 


MAUDE  AND  MIEIAM. 


45 


a very  sweet,  musical  voice,  and  song  after  song  was  called 
for  by  the  baron,  who  unbent  to  none  other  as  to  Eveline  do 
Vere.  Then  came  several  trios,  in  which  Lancelot  joined 
his  sisters;  and  the  baron  said,  as  he  bade  good-night: 

' Truly  the  minstrels  may  hang  up  their  harps  on  the 
walls  in  this  presence/’ 

“ A guerdon  from  the  Knight  of  Hawksworth,”  said 
Eveline,  with  a mischievous  smile  upon  her  face ; “ thou 
deniest  not  to  young  demoiselles  what  thou  givest  to  the 
minstrels,  I trow.” 

“ What  wouldst  thou,  damsel  ? Make  thy  request  quickly, 
and  thou  shalt  have  it.” 

“ Dost  promise  that  I have  my  wish  ? ” 

“ Thou  hearest  the  word  of  honor  of  a true  knight.  Lady 
Eveline.” 

A small  boon.  Sir  Knight ; only  that  the  Lady  Alice, 
Blanche  de  Lacy,  and  Guy  return  with  us  to  the  banquet.” 
The  countenance  of  the  baron  fell ; but  he  replied  : 

“ Thou  hast  ray  word.  A true  knight  falleth  not  from 
that.” 

The  baron  closed  the  door  as  he  passed  out,  and  Eveline, 
'vith  a light,  silvery  laugh,  said : 

“ Saidst  I not  so  ? Fairly  surrendered  I The  ring  falleth 
to  me  of  a truth.” 

In  a day  or  two,  we  find  them  on  their  return  to  Ravens- 
cliflT,  and  entering  the  balliura.  The  Lady  Jaqueline  has- 
tened to  meet  them  at  the  entrance. 

Thou  winnest  the  ring,  Eveline,”  said  the  mother,  as  she 
placed  the  jewel  on  the  slender  fnger. 


46 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


‘‘  That  were  a small  boon,  good  mother,  an*  it  were  not 
for  the  merry  guests  that  come  to  the  castle,  and  stay  with 
us  two  weeks.” 

We  find  the  reunited  friends  out  in  the  pleasance,  — a 
garden  around  the  castle,  — enjoying  a «troll  along  the  path 
on  the  south  side,  which,  for  a long  distance,  was  shaded  by 
elms,  whose  branches,  meeting  over  the  walk,  formed  a com- 
plete arbor  of  delight. 

It  is  true  that  the  fresh  winds  of  early  autumn  swept 
through  the  rich  foliage,  murmuring  of  the  fading  loveli- 
ness of  nature,  and  that  some  of  the  birds  had  already 
taken  wing  for  a warmer  climate,  some  few  remaining  yet 
to  warble  their  sweet  songs. 

At  the  extreme  end  of  this  long  alcove  was  a small  build- 
ing, which  we  would  call  a summer-house,  covered  with  a 
rich  drapery  of  vines,  a favorite  retreat  for  the  dwellers  in 
the  castle  when  seeking  retirement;  and  here  we  find  Guy 
and  Maude,  while  the  remainder  were  enjoying  the  (*ut-door 
games  common  among  the  nobility. 

Maude  had  brought  her  cithern,  and  entertained  her  com- 
jianion  with  some  of  her  favorite  music. 

‘‘  Thy  music  is  wondrous  sweet,  Maude,**  said  the  young 
esquire;  “but,  soothly,  it  seemeth  to  breathe  the  air  of 
heaven  more  than  earth,  I trow.** 

“ In  the  abbey  of  St.  Agnes  there  lacketh  not  time  for 
thought ; and  many  a quiet  hour  in  the  lonely  cloister,  or 
under  the  shade  of  the  grand  old  trees,  there  come  solemn 
dreams  of  the  secrets  of  another  world  : there  be  much  to 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


47 


bewilder,  Guy,  when  alone  with  our  strange  fancies,  and 
naught  to  answer  tlie  questions  of  our  own  spirits.” 

“Thou  needest  not  puzzle  thyseF  about  hard  things, 
Maude ; the  Church  telleth  all  that  we  need.” 

The  young  girl  smiled,  as  she  replied  : 

“ How  little  thou  knowest,  Guy,  what  deep  thoughts  lie 
in  some  human  hearts  that  would  know  more  of  God  our 
Father  ! There  be  naught  in  our  breviary  that  bringeth  us 
near  to  him ; and  all  that  Father  Ambrose  or  the  prioress 
of  St.  Agnes  tell  me  only  frighteth  me ; for  God  cometh  to 
me  always  with  a rod  that  punisheth,  and  that  layeth  upon 
us  sharp  penances,  or  pointeth  us  to  the  fires  of  purgatory. 
That  is  all  that  come  from  our  teachers  and  our  book ; but 
when  the  flowers  smile,  and  the  happy  birds  sing,  when 
the  trees  bend  with  their  fruits,  and  the  ground  teemeth 
with  food  of  all  kinds,  it  seemeth,  Guy,  au^  it  must  be  a 
God  that  loveth  us,  who  taketh  such  fatherly  care  of  his 
children;  but,  then,  Guy,  we  seem  not  like  these,  for  we  be 
sinners  in  so  many  ways.  Oh ! Guy,  how  my  heart  won- 
dereth  I and  there  be  none  to  answer  these  questions,  that 
kept  me  awake  many  a weary  hour  in  the  night  season.” 

“ Thou  seemest  ever  a strange  child,  Maude,  even  when 
a little  demoiselle,  sitting  with  thy  brown  eyes  bent  upon 
the  ground,  and  thy  hands  folded  on  thy  lap,  while  thy  sis- 
ter Eveline  sporteth  like  a merry  lark.” 

“Sometimes,  Guy,  in  the  chapel,  there  come  such  solemn 
thoughts,  as  the  names  of  brave  knights  and  noble  ladies  pass 
before  me, — the  dead  who  sleep  there ; and  visions  come 
of  the  long  life  that  waiteth  for  us  all  when  our  short  day 


48 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


on  earth  endeth.  There  be  some,  Guy,  that  reach  not  the 
[Jrbs  Beata.  What  an’  we  should  come  short  of  the  heav- 
enly city  ? ” 

“Thou,  Maude?  Tut,  tut,  thou  troublest  thysel’  like 
unto  a sely  demoiselle,  methinketh  Come;  seest  thou 
that  merry  company?  an’  thou  joines'i;  the  sports  out  there 
the  vapors  vanish,  I trow.” 

But  the  games  under  the  elms  quench  not  the  aspirations 
of  Maude  de  Vere;  for  was  she  not  one  of  the  hidden 
ones  whom  the  Good  Shepherd  will  find  and  bring  home  to 
the  green  pastures  of  his  grace?  Surrounded  by  feudal 
grandeur,  where  the  things  of  this  life  engrossed  every 
thought,  with  no  teaching  but  the  priest  and  the  breviary, 
no  worship  but  the  showy  ceremonial  of  the  Romish  Church, 
leading  away  from  Jesus,  and  planting  the  germinals  of 
positive  error.  Maude  de  Vere  was,  nevertheless,  all  uncon- 
scious to  herself,  approaching  a spiritual^  sisterhood,  — that 
great  body  of  believers,  who,  in  every  age,  have  fought  the 
good  fight  of  faith ; some  in  dens  and  caves  of  the  earth, 
some  hidden  in  mountain  fastnesses,  some  in  the  catacombs 
of  Rome,  others  even  in  dissolute  courts,  some  immured  in 
convents,  and  Maude  in  a feudal  castle  in  mediaeval  days, 
the  instrument  of  light  in  the  sacristy  of  Father  Ambrose. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


BEDE’s  gospel  of  ST.  JOHN. 


VELINE  is  engrossed  with  female  employments,  music 


and  embroidery  filling  up  her  time;  but  Maude  is 
searching  for  higher  things,  consequently  we  find  her  dili- 
gent in  her  attendance  upon  the  services  in  the  chapel, 
and  the  most  frequent  at  confession,  for  she  knew  of  no 
better  way. 

Always  welcome  at  the  sacristy,  we  will  join  her  there  one 
day  after  confession. 

Her  attention  is  attracted  toward  a small  book  lying 
upon  the  table  in  the  friar's  apartment.  She  lifted  it  up, 
unclasped  the  volume,  and  turning  to  Father  Ambrose  an 
eager  face,  said : 

Whence  cometh  this  holy  book,  father  ? " 

‘‘  It  hath  been  a long  season  hidden  away,  Maude." 

“ The  Gospel  of  St.  John ! " said  the  young  lady,  as  she 
read  the  title.  “ I wot  that  he  is  highly  blessed  who  owneth 
God's  own  book." 

There  be  not  many  copies  of  the  same,  daughter ; only 
a few  owned  by  the  priests  of  the  Holy  Church." 

“ Who  wrote  this  in  English,  father  ? " 

The  venerable  Bede,  a holy  monk  that  liveth  in  a mon- 


49 


60 


MALDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


astery  at  Durham,  more  than  four  hundred  years  agone, — 
a monk  of  rare  wisdom,  who  spendeth  his  days  in  study  and 
writing,  and  finisheth  the  holy  book  on  the  day  of  his  death, 
and  as  he  writeth  the  last  word  he  saith:  ‘Glory  be  to  the 
Father,  and  to  the  Son,  and  to  the  Holy  Ghost,’  and  then 
he  expireth.” 

“What  give  I not,  father,  an’  I might  read  the  holy 
Gospel.” 

“ Thou  couldst  not  know  it,  Maude ; the  book  contained' 
words  too  hard  for  womankind.” 

“ I pray  thee,  holy  father,  an’  thou  lendest  it  to  me,  thoi 
hast  furmety  and  pottage  and  good  ale  to  thy  heart’s  con 
tent ; an’  thou  wilt  ? ” 

These  were  tempting  bribes  to  the  friar,  who  replied: 

“ I trow  it  harmeth  thee  not, daughter;  thou  likest  strange 
things  for  a young  demoiselle,  but  thou  mayest  take  it  foi 
\ season." 

“Thanks,  father;  the  Holy  Virgin  bless  thee  for  thy 
»x)odness.” 

Maude  hastened  away  with  her  treasure ; and  now  where 
should  she  read  it  undisturbed? 

There  was  no  light  in  her  sleeping  closet,  no  quiet  corner 
in  the  room  where  the  Lady  Jaqueline  sat  daily  with  her 
damsels  at  their  embroidery ; but  she  thought  of  the  little 
room  far  away  in  the  highest  part  of  a turret,  used  in  times 
of  siege  as  a lookout  for  a sentinel,  and  thither  she  hastened. 

It  was  a small  room,  un carpeted,  of  course,  but  well 
lighted ; but  there  were  rude  accommodations  in  the  fire* 
place  for  heating  it  in  winter. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


61 


**  A fitting  place ! thought  Maude,  as  she  stood  a 
moment  at  the  casement,  looking  out  upon  tne  lovely 
landscape. 

So  very  high,  it  commanded  a view  of  the  country  around 
for  many  miles,  large  tracts  of  which  were  covered  with 
grand  forests,  the  homes  of  the  Saxon  gentry,  and  the  huts 
of  the  peasants  dotting  the  landscape,  while  the  river,  which 
bounded  the  castle  on  the  east,  wound  its  gentle  way  through 
a lovely  region  of  country, 

“ Anigh  to  heaven,”  thought  Maude,  as  she  looked  up  at 
the  calm  blue  sky;  “so  far  from  the  din  of  vanity  and 
lightness  below.” 

Drawing  up  a rude  table  and  an  equally  rude  seat,  she 
placed  herself  near  the  open  window,  for  it  was  not  yet  cool 
enough  to  close  the  casement. 

The  book  was  bound  in  dark-brown  leather,  very  simple 
in  workmanship,  and  clasped  with  two  small  clasps  of  com- 
mon metal  washed  with  silver,  the  leaves  of  vellum,  written 
in  a clear,  small  hand ; it  was  legible  to  one  accustomed  to 
read  only  black  letter. 

‘ Stops  it  had  none,  except  a full  stop  here  and  there,  with 
no  capitals,  only  occasionally  a letter  in  red  ink. 

On  the  front  page  was  a badly-drawn  and  gaudily-colored 
illumination  of  the  Virgin  and  Child. 

Maude  de  Vere  was  deeply  reverential,  and  with  very 
solemn  feelings  she  opened  the  sacred  volume.  Glancing 
her  eye  eagerly  over  the  pages,  she  found  that  much  of  it 
was  a revelation  from  the  Lord  himself. 

Bowing  at  the  table,  she  cross^vl  herself,  and  addressed  a 


52 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


prayer  to  the  Virgin  ; but  that  did  not  express  the  language 
of  her  heart. 

“Lord  Jesus,  teach  thou  me!”  burst  from  her  lips,  as, 
with  clasped  hands,  she  raised  her  eyes  to  heaven. 

Strange  things  were  in  the  book,  such  as  she  had  never 
read  before. 

The  Romish  breviary  was  the  only  book  that,  as  a guide 
to  heaven,  Maude  de  Vere  had  ever  read. 

“ Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid.” 

Wondrous  words  1 Why,  Maude  had  been  taught  fear 
only  became  a sinner  in  approaching  God,  who  thus  far 
was  known  only  as  a stern,  vindictive  judge. 

“ In  my  Father’s  house  are  many  mansions.” 

“Precious  name  I Father!  How  can  1 make  him 
mine  ? ” whispered  the  earnest  reader.  “ Many  mansions  ! 
Oh  ! can  there  be  one  for  Maude  de  Vere?  ” 

Maude  read  on,  wondering  more  and  more ; for  no  prayer 
to  the  Virgin,  no  invocation  to  the  saints  was  there  not  a 
word  of  penance,  nor  confession,  nor  the  holy  mass;  and 
she  had  been  taught  such  a different  way.  But,  then,  was 
it  not  the  voice  of  the  Church  ? and  was  not  the  Church 
commissioned  from  heaven?  But  suppose  that  they  did 
not  speak  alike ! were  both  infallible  ? 

How  could  that  be?  If  the  Church  says  one  thing,  and 
God’s  word  another,  which  must  be  believed  ? How  could 
the  Church  be  wrong?  Was  it  not  the  repository  God’s 
truth  ? But  how  could  the  blessed  apostles  be  wrong  in 
writing  the  very  words  of  Christ  ? This  seemed  solid  rock. 
At  rue  time  she  thought  that  nothing  could  contradict  the 


Af  A U I>  E AND  M I K I A M. 


63 


Churcii,  and  then  that  nothing  could  supersede  the  words 
of  God  himself. 

Maude  concluded  that  she  would  read  for  herself,  keep 
close  to  God’s  word,  and  pray  for  light. 

I am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life:  no  man  cometh 
unto  the  Father  but  by  me.’’  Obedience  to  the  Church, 
humility,  penance,  works,  but  Christ  never!  — these  were 
all  that  she  had  ever  been  taught  of  the  will  of  God. 

All  that  she  knew  of  the  Lord  Jesus  were  historical  facts, 
— tlie  story  of  the  nativity,  the  fasting  in  the  wilderness, 
the  crucifixion,  and  the  resurrectioii ; jiLiid  whenever  the 
Saviour  was  present  before  her  mental  vision,  it  was  as  one 
crowned  with  thorns,  bleeding  on  Calvary,  and  then  the 
dread  image  of  Christ  in  judgment.  But  these  were  all  as 
dramas!  His  offices,  his  blessed  work  as , the  One  Saviour  y 
without  any  other  mediator  of  virgin,  holy  saint,  or  earthly 
priest,  of  this  she  yet  knew  nothing ; but  still  she  read,  and 
still  she  prayed., 

‘‘And  whatsoever  ye  sliall  ask  in  my  name,  that  will  I 
do ; ” but  not  one  word  of  whatever  ye  shall  ask  Saint  Basil 
or  Saint  Agnes,  did  that  earnest  reader  see  in  all  these  holy 
pages. 

Maude’s  heart  was  deeply  stirred  ; well  described  in  the 

# 

account  of  the  first  creation,  the  same  agent  operating  in 
the  second  : 

“And  darkness  was  upon  the  face  of  the  deep. 

“And  the  Spirit  of  God  moved  upon  the  face  of  the 
waters.” 

Chaos  was  troubled,  moving,  stirring ; but  there  is  an 


64 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


hour  in  the  history  of  every  redeemed  soul  when  God  mya 
Let  there  be  light ! ” 

This  first  reading  wsls  a hasty,  eager  glimpse  of  woiidcrs 
that  were  all  new  to  Maude  ; and,  bringing  out  her  breviary, 
she  resolved  to  compare  the  two,  taking  subjects  separately, 
and  placing  them  side  by  side  with  the  Gospel. 

Time  flew  by  without  her  consciousness ; for  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  door,  and  Wilfred  d’Arcy  presented  him- 
self. 

‘‘The  Lady  Jaqueline  sendeth  for  thee,  Lady  Maude, 
said  the  page.  “ The  damsels  be  assembled  long  time  in 
the  ’broiderie  room.” 

“ Make  my  devoir  to  my  good  mother,  Wilfred.  I will  be 
there  anon ; but  I wish  that  I might  tarry  in  this  turret  all 
the  live-long  day,  for  I have  blessed  company.” 

The  page  looked  surj)rised  at  the  young  lady,  wondering 
at  her  words ; but  he  could  well  imagine  that  she  entertained 
the  angels,  for  he  had  long  regarded  her  as  akin  to  those 
blessed  spirits. 

The  page  tarried  behind  until  the  Lady  Maude  passed 
out,  and,  as  her  light  figure  disappeared,  he  stooped  to  pick 
up  a flower  that  she  had  dropped  from  her  girdle  ; kissing 
it  reverently,  he  placed  it  away  in  the  bosom  of  his  doublet ; 
for  each  day  the  page  was  yielding  up  his  heart  to  the  sweet 
dreams  of  early  youth,^ — dreams  seldom  realized. 

Wilfred  was  not  only  an  orphan,  but  literally  alone  in  the 
wide,  wide  w^orld : at  a very  early  age,  therefore,  being  the 
son  of  a brother-in-arms,  the  good  Baron  of  Ravenscliff  had 
brought  him  to  the  castle,  and,  as  was  the  custom,  during  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


6C 


days  of  childhood,  was  entirely  under  the  care  and  instnio 
tion  of  the  ladies. 

There  was  much  to  admire  in  the  youthful  page, — per- 
sonal attractions,  gifts  and  graces  especially  pleasing  to  the 
kidies,  fondness  for  music,  gallantry,  and  bravery;  for 
allliougli  clothed  in  a slight,  delicate  frame,  there  was 
much  of  the  chivalric  spirit  in  Wilfred  d^Arcy. 

Maude's  tender  heart  was  especially  interested  in  the 
orphan  boy,  and  from  the  days  of  childhood  he  had  been 
surrounded  by  all  those  gentle  influences  which  have  such 
power  over  those  early  days  of  romance.  The  Lady  Maude 
was  therefore  Wilfred's  divinity,  at  whose  shrine  the  enthu- 
siastic page  almost  worshipped. 

He  had  nearly  passed  through  the  discipline  of  the  page, 
and  was  almost  ready  for  the  second  grade  of  chivalry. 

But  we  will  follow  Maude  to  the  'broiderie  room,  where 
we  find  her,  with  a deeply  occupied  mind,  among  the  gay 
young  damsels,  very  silent  and  abstracted,  for  a new  and 
absorbing  subject  of  interest  engrossed  her  thoughts. 

The  Lady  Jaqueline  was  aware  that  her  thoughtful 
daughter  was  very  different  from  the  gay  and  brilliant  Eve- 
line ; blit  she  knew  not  what  it  was  that  shaded  the  bright 
young  face,  or  why  it  was  that  Maude  so  frequently  lay 
down  her  embroidery  needle,  gazing  into  space  with  those 
earnest  dark-brown  eyes. 

“ Thy  work  lingereth,  Maude,"  said  the  mother.  “ Christ- 
mas will  be  upon  us  ere  it  cometh  from  the  frame." 

“ I cry  thee  mercy,  good  mother,"  was  the  reply,  as,  with  a 
blushing  face,  Maude  applied  herself  to  her  task. 


66 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Strangely  alone  was  the  young  damsel  in  that  crowd  of 
merry  creatures  busy  over  their  work,  while  each  contributed 
h(ir  lively  sally  or  sprightly  anecdote  to  enliven  the  hours 
in  the  tapestry  room. 

\ Many  proofs  of  their  industry  were  hung  all  around  the 
walls,  decorated  richly  with  fine  pieces  of  embroidery,  many 
of  which  were  historical. 

The  Lady  Jaqueline  frequently  turned  her  eyes  upon 
Maude ; seeing  her  continued  listlessness,  she  said,  kindly : 
“Thou  mayest  take  thy  harp,  Maude;  for  I wot  that  thy 
mood  favoreth  sweet  sounds  to-day  more  than  thy  ’broiderie.” 
Maude  obeyed  the  summons,  and,  with  a voice  that 
silenced  every  gay  spirit,  she  sang : 

“ Fierce  was  the  wild  billow 
Dark  was  the  night ; 

Oars  labored  heavily, 

Foam  glimmered  white  ; 

Mariners  trembled  — 

Peril  was  nigh ; 

Then  said  the  God  of  God ; 

‘Peace ! it  is  I!  ’ 

“ Ridge  of  the  mountain  wave, 

Lower  thy  crest  I 
Wail  of  the  stormy  wind, 

Be  thou  at  rest ! 

Peril  can  none  be. 

Sorrow  must  fly, 

Where  saitli  the  Light  of  Light  i 
‘Peace  ! it  is  t !’ 


V 


KAUDE  AND  MIRIAM.  67 

** Jesus,  Deliverer! 

Come  Thou  to  me  I 
Soothe  Thou  my  voyaging 
Over  life’s  sea  I 

* Thou,  when  the  storm  of  death 

Roars,  sweeping  by, 

Whisper,  0 Truth  of  Truth,  ^ 

‘ Peace  ! it  is  I ! * ” 

“ How  cometh  it,  Maude,  that  thou  lovest  these  old 
hyraus?’’  asked  the  Lady  Jaqueline;  “one  looketh  foi 
such  like  music  in  the  convents  among  the  cloistered  nuns, 
and  not  among  gay  young  demoiselles.” 

Maude  smiled,  as  she  replied  ; 

“ We  wot  not  how  soon  we  be  among  the  citizens  of  the 
holy  city,  good  mother,  an’  it  seemeth  that  we  ought  to  be 
in  tune  to  join  that  blessed  music.” 

Seeking  Father  Ambrose  after  even  song,  Maude  was  full 
of  questions. 

“ The  book  teacheth  not  like  the  breviary,  father.  Which 
obeyeth  good  Christians?” 

“The  Holy  Church  is  the  expounder  of  Holy  Writ, 
daughter ; her  true  children  listen  to  her  voice  only.” 

“ But  an’  she  speaketh  against  God’s  word,  what  then, 
father  ? ” 

“The  Lord  Jesus  saith,  ^ Lo,  I am  with  you  alway,  to 
the  end  of  the  world.’  He  speaketh  those  words  to  his 
church,  in  which  dwell eth  the  Spirit  in  all  ages ; so  that  the 
words  spoken  by  the  true  Church  be  just  as  traly  God’s  as 


68 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


the  words  of  the  holy  apostles,  for  the  Holy  Church  nevei 
goeth  astray/’ 

But  it  seemeth,  father,  that  the  apostles  nearest  to  our 
Lord  know  more  of  his  blessed  will.” 

‘‘Keep  close  to  the  Holy  Church,  Maude;  that  is  God’s 
only  interpreter  of  Holy  Writ.” 

“I  pray  thee,  father,  tell  me  one  thing:  is  this  really 
God’s  own  book?” 

‘ Just  as  truly  as  the  sun  shineth  in  the  heavens, 
daughter.” 

“ Then  it  is  sent  to  Maude  de  Vere  as  truly  as  to  the 
priests ; for  an’  the  sun  shineth  over  the  whole  earth,  the 
Gosj^el  shineth  for  all,  too.” 

The  words  of  Father  Ambrose  quieted  not  the  spirit  of 
Maude  de  Vere;  for,  written  in  the  Lamb’s  book  of  Hfe,  it 
had  started  on  its  journey  to  the  heavenly  city,  and  was  in 
I ruth  one  of  those  to  whom  the  blessed  promise  belonged ; 
“ I am  with  you  alway.” 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  YULE  LOG. 

rpHE  autumn  months  pass  rapidly  by.  Maude  is  obliged 
^ to  close  the  casement  of  her  turret ; for  the  keen,  sharp 
winds  of  the  last  fall  month  whistle  sometimes  shrilly 
around  the  high  tower : but  Wilfred  is  very  watchful  of  the  * 
young  demoiselle,  and  on  the  first  indication  of  frost,  has 
seen  that  the  fireplace  is  well  provided  with  good  logs 
Owing  to  his  care,  she  finds  her  Ijttle  sanctum  always  com- 
fortable, when  she  is  ready  to  occupy  her  chair.  She  is 
busily  engaged  now  in  copying  the  blessed  Gospel ; for  she 
fears  that  Father  Ambrose  may  recall  it ; and  Maude  is  not 
only  studying  and  copying  the  precious  book,  but  is  com- 
mitting every  word  to  memory. 

“ Wouldst  know  what  I am  doing,  Wilfred?”  said  the 
young  lady,  one  day,  seeing  him  linger  in  the  turret. 

“ It  seemeth  passing  strange  how  thou  writes!  so  bravely, 
hidy^”  was  the  reply. 

‘‘  Thou  wottest  not  what  blessed  words  my  pen  traceth : 
the  words  of  our  Lord,  Wilfred ; for  this  is,  in  sooth,  the  Gos- 
pel of  St.  John.” 

Bending  over  the  table,  the  page  replied : 

“ Thou  writest  brave  letters,  lady ; fair  as  the  monks,  I 
ween.  No  other  lady  sayeth  that,  I trow.” 


69 


60 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


‘‘  Wouldst  like  to  read,  Wilfred  ? inquired  the  young 
Bcribe. 

The  page  turned  his  blue  eyes  upon  the  face  of  the 
maiden,  as  he  replied : 

An’  thou  wouldst  teach  me,  lady,  I would  bless  thee 
more  than  tongue  can  tell.” 

, ‘‘Then  thou  readest  the  true  gospel,  Wilfred,”  she  re- 
plied; “and  thou  wouldst  have  blessed  company  in  thy 
lonely  hours.  Step  in  here  every  day,  just  one  half  hour,  and 
I will  teach  thee.  Come,  now ; let  us  have  our  first  lesson.” 
Maude  brought  out  one  of  her  first  books,  and  the  page 
seated  himself  by  her  side. 

Not  accustomed  to  any  mental  effort,  the  children  of  our 
day  would  have  been  surprised  to  see  what  a labor  was  this 
first  lesson  for  a youth  of  nineteen  ; but  Maude  was  patient, 
and  Wilfred  persevering,  and  there  was  a charm  in  his 
young  teacher’s  voice  that  insinuated  its  lessons  slowly,  but 
surely,  into  the  undisciplined  mind  of  the  student.  The 
lesson  ended,  Maude  gave  kind  words  of  encouragement. 

“ It  seemeth  not  so  hard,  good  Wilfred,  after  thou  hast  a 
few  more  lessons ; but  thou  hadst  better  take  the  book  and 
study  for  thyself.  But  come  daily,  and  thou  readest  the 
Gospel  for  thyself  ere  many  months.” 

“ It,  perhaps,  is  too  much  trouble,  lady.” 

‘*  Think  not  so,  good  Wilfred ; it  is  a pleasant  task.” 

A new  light  had  dawned  upon  the  path  of  the  lonely 
orphan,  and  it  needed  no  second  invitation ; for  the  page 
was  found  daily  by  the  side  of  his  young  teacher,  who  re- 
warded his  efforts  by  reading  the  Gospel  to  him  after  each 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


61 


lesson,  after  which  we  find  him  seated  by  a porthole  at  the 
end  of  the  corridor,  conning  the  task  of  the  day. 

Maude  had  found  work  in  her  turret,  and,  like  a true  dis- 
ciple of  the  Lord,  rejoiced  to.  tell  what  she  knew  of  the 
Master.  Her  own  interest  in  the  Gospel  is  daily  on  the  in 
crease,  the  sweet  English  poetess  expressing  all : 

‘‘And  there  is  something  in  this  book 
That  makes  all  care  be  gone  ; 

And  yet  I weep  — I know  not  why  — 

As  I go  reading  on!” 

None  in  that  old  castle,  save  Wilfred,  knew  of  the  work  so 
diligently  pursued  in  the  lonely  turret;  but  Maude  had 
companions,  though  she  knew  it  not,  — those  angelic  mes- 
sengers, so  deeply  interested  in  man's  redemption,  and  the 
Holy  Spirit,  whose  presence  she  had  daily  invoked  since 
she  had  read : 

‘‘And  whatsoever  ye  shall  ask  in  my  name,  that  will  I 
do." 

“ For,"  said  Maude,  “ there  is  no  gift  so  precious  as  the 
Holy  Spirit,  an'  for  that  aboon  all  things  I pray." 

We  leave  Maude  in  her  quiet  turret  at  her  holy  employ- 
ment, and  descend  awhile  to  the  lower  rooms  of  the  keep. 

Although  the  young  esquires  and  pages  pursue  their  mili- 
tary exercises,  as  usual,  in  the  tilt-yard,  the  sharp  winds  of 
December  oblige  them  to  resort  to  in-door  sports  in  tliat  in- 
clement season. 

There  are  many  in  those  old  feudal  times,  especially  in 
the  winter,  wRen  there  is  almost  an  uninterrupted  round  of 
6 


62 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


jollity  and  feasting,  commencing  on  Christmas  Eve,  and 
ending  on  Twelfth  Day. 

Many  of  those  old  customs  are  doubtless  derived  from 
pagan  rites  and  ceremonies,  retained  after  the  conversion 
of  the  Britons  to  Christianity ; the  teachers  finding  it  impos- 
sible, at  that  early  period,  to  wean  them  entirely  from  thes« 
old  superstitions. 

Tliey  were,  therefore,  engrafted  upon  the  Christian  cus- 
toms to  render  the  religion  of  the  cross  moie  palatable.  Of 
such  is  the  burning  of  the  Yule  Log  and  the  hanging  of  the 
mistletoe-bough,  which  may  be  traced,  the  one  to  the  old 
Druids,  the  other  to  the  Scandinavians. 

But  Christmas  Eve  is  here.  It  is  a genuine  winter ; for 
there  has  been  a fall  of  snow,  and  the  ground  is  covered 
with  a white  mantle. 

The  banqueting-hall  is  decorated  with  holly,  bay,  rose- 
mary, and  laurel ; the  mistletoe-bough  is  hung  on  the  ceil- 
ing, and  the  old  ceremony  of  bringing  in  the  Yule  Log  has 
commenced. 

The  huge  chimney  has  been  well  swept,  and  the  inhal  .1- 
ants  of  the  keep  are  in  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  Yuie. 

We  will  join  the  company  out  of  doors  on  this  cold  De- 
cember night. 

The  retainers  of  the  Baron  of  Eavenscliff*  were  out  in 
laige  numbers;  for  well  they  knew  that  for  two  weeks  the 
castle  would  be  open  to  all,  and  that  a profuse  hospitality 
was  always  dispensed  on  this  joyous  occasion.  There  lies 
the  huge  old  Yule,  a ponderous  block,  in  its  resting-place 
at  the  feet  of  its  brethren  of  the  woods. 


MAdDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


63 


Now  begins  the  ceremony  of  drawing  it  to  the  castle. 
A large  number  head  the  procession,  who  lay  hold  upon  the 
strong  rope,  and  another  band  push  the  mammoth  log  from 
behind. 

Each  wa}  farer  raises  his  hat  and  salutes  it  heartily  as  it 
passes  by ; for  he  knows  that  it  is  full  of  good  promises,  that 
its  flame  would  burn  out  old  wrongs  and  heart-burnings, 
and  cause  the  liquor  to  bubble  in  the  wassail  bowl  that  was 
quaffed  to  the  drowning  of  ancient  feuds. 

On  went  the  old  log  amid  the  shouts  and  cheers  of  the 
outsiders ; and  now  it  has  reached  the  drawbridge ; and  as 
it  passes  in,  the  warder  blows  his  horn  from  his  tower,  the 
trumpets  take  up  the  welcome,  and  a crowd  of  the  dwellers 
in  the  old  castle  rush  to  the  walls,  cheering  the  old  Yule  as 
it  passed  over  the  ballium ; the  minstrels  hail  its  arrival 
with  a hearty  song  as  the  log  is  borne  into  the  hall  and  laid 
upon  the  huge  fireplace.  A portion  of  last  year’s  log  was 
already  there,  and  in  a short  time  the  flames  roared  up 
the  great  chimney,  lighting  the  immense  hall,  aided  by 
the  huge  Christmas  candle  called  the  Yule  candle;  large 
torches,  also,  borne  in  ha^vds,  making  a perfect  blaze  of 
light. 

This  is  a period  when  distinctions  in  rank  are  all  laid 
aside,  and  the  peasantry  receive  a hearty  welcome  from  the 
ladies  of  the  castle. 

A spirit  of  jollity  inspired  all  the  company;  and  there  was 
a burst  of  hearty  laughter  when  the  Lady  Eveline  found 
herself  obliged  to  pay  the  usual  forfeit  to  a Saxon,  who 
arrested  her  footstej)S  under  the  mistletoe- bough.  Others  fol- 


64 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


lowed  her  example;  but  there  were  some  doubts  as  to  the 
unpremeditated  character  of  the  capture. 

It  was  a season  of  uproarious  revelry,  and  at  the  hospi- 
table board  many  an  old  feud  was  buried  forever  over  the 
M assail  bowl,  as,  decked  with  ribbons,  it  passed  gayly  around 
among  the  guests,  — none  stopping  to  think  that  the  revels 
around  future  wassail  bowls  might  engender  other  feuds,  — 
the  temperance  idea  not  yet  having  dawned  upon  the 
world. 

Many  old  games  were  participated  in  by  the  whole  com- 
pany; some,  perhaps,  which  our  children  are  accustomed  to 
enjoy  in  mor^  modern  days,  for,  if  we  are  not  mistaken,  the 
game  of  “ blind-man Vbuff’’  is  as  old  as  the  feudal  castles. 

“The  children  are  passing  over  the  drawbridge,’^  said 
Wilfred,  to  the  company  in  the  great  hall. 

Knowing  what  sweet  carols  they  often  sang,  the  crowd 
inside  took  their  stand  within  hearing  of  the  little  ones, 
who  by  this  tim.e  were  out  in  the  darkness,  only  visible  by 
the  light  of  the  lanterns. 

Very  sweet  and  touching  was  the  old  carol  that  they 
piped  out  for  the  baron  and  hi&  family,  accompanied  by  two 
musical  instruments  well  played ; the  words  having  no 
claim  to  literary  merit,  only  to  be  admired  for  the  sim- 
plicity and  melody  of  the  ballad. 

“And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring 
On  Christmas-day,  on  Christmas-day ; 

And  all  the  bells  on  earth  shall  ring 
On  Christmas-day  in  the  morning. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


66 


*And  all  the  angels  in  heaven  shall  sing 
On  Christmas-day,  on  Christmas-day ; 
And  all  the  angels  in  heaven  shall  sing 
On  Christmas-day  in  the  morning. 

“And  all  the  souls  on  earth  shall  sing 
On  Christmas-day,  on  Christmas-day ; 
And  all  the  souls  on  earth  shall  sing 
On  Christmas-day  in  the  morning. 


“Then  let  us  all  rejoice  amain 

On  Christmas-day,  on  Christmas-day 
Then  let  us  all  rejoice  amain 
On  Christmas-day  in  the  morning.” 


As  soon  as  the  carol  was  ended,  the  good  baron  head^l 
ihe  procession,  and  brought  them  into  the  great  hall,  carry- 
ing a pine  torch  in  one  hand  and  a green  bough  in  the  other. 

Many  a bright  glance  and  hearty  laugh  welcomed  the 
quaint  little  girlish  figures  bashfully  gliding  in,  wrapped  up 
in  mother’s  large  bonnet  and  shawl,  that  trailed  upon  the 
ground;  the  boys  equally  droll  beneath  hats  that  covered 
neck  and  shoulders,  and  coats  that  hung  upon  their  little 
frames  like  bags,  and  touching  the  shoetops,  none  brave 
enough  to  encounter  the  winter  winds  in  their  scanty 
clothing. 

Leading  the  shy  little  things  to  the  table,  the  baron 
waited  upon  them  himself,  loading  them  with  plenty  of 
Christmas  cheer,  and  giving  them  a generous  donation  in 

E 


66 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


money;  the  children  of  Saxons  and  Normans  mingling 
freely  together  on  Christmas  Eve. 

Out  upon  the  ground  before  the  castle  they  sang  another 
old  carol,  accompanying  it  this  time  with  the  ringing  of 
staffs  of  small  bells,  and  then  bade  farewell. 

“The  good  baron  giveth  us  a jolly  gooding,”  said  the 
eldest  boy. 

“We’ll  keep  a merry  feast  on  Twelfth  Night,”  said  the 
little  girl  who  walked  next  to  the  speaker. 

“ What  hideth  little  Bess  ? ” said  another,  pointing  to  a 
very  small  child  lingering  in  the  rear. 

“A  gooding  for  gammer,”  replied  the  child.  “She  is 
too  old  to  go  to  the  castle ; an’  I ate  not  a crumb  of  my 
Christmas  cake.” 

Singing  their  joyous  carols,  the  children  passed  on  tc  visit 
other  mansions  on  their  way  home.  Sweet  Christmas  carols ! 
beautifully  alluded  to  by  quaint  old  Jeremy  Taylor,  when  re- 
ferring in  his  “Great  Exemplar”  to  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis, 
or  hymn  sung  by  the  angels  over  the  plains  of  Bethlehem. 
He  says ; “ As  soon  as  those  blessed  choristers  had  sung  the 
Christmas  carol,  and  taught  the  church  a hymn  to  put  in 
her  offices  forever  on  the  anniversary  of  this  festivity,  the 
angels  returned  into  heaven.” 

And  so  we  find  that  the  angels  were  the  first  who  sang  a 
Christmas  carol,  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years  ago. 

The  childish  choristers  had  scarcely  passed  out,  ere  a 
more  noisy  crew  entered,  — a company  of  mummers,  who, 
from  time  immemorial,  had  been  in  the  habit  of  acting  out 
the  time- honored  legend  of  St.  George  and  the  di-agon. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


67 


The  actors  were  chiefly  youug  lads,  in  costume  proper  to  the 
allegorical  characters  which  they  represented,  claiming  ad- 
mittance as  St.  George  and  his  merry  men. 

After  the  grotesque  drama  had  ended,  they  too  claimed 
their  Christmas  guerdon,  in  quaint,  old  rhymes  hundreds 
of  years  old. 

Ladies  and  gentlemen, 

Our  story  is  ended; 

Our  money-box  is  commended. 

Five  or  six  shillings  will  not  do  us  harm. 

Silver,  or  copper,  or  gold,  if  you  can.*' 

There  were  many  superstitions  in  those  olden  times, — 
some  coarse  and  offensive, — but  the  most  beautiful  is  that 
which  represents  a thorough  prostration  of  the  Prince  of 
Darkness  as  taking  place,  when  it  was  said  that  no  evil  in* 
fluence  could  be  exerted  upon  mankind. 

The  cock  is  said  t(»  crow  all  night  long,  and  by  his  vigi- 
lance to  keep  off  evil  spirits. 

It  is  beautifully  expressed  by  Shakspeare  in  the  play  of 
riamlet : 

“ It  faded  on  the  crowing  of  the  cock. 

Some  say  that  ever  'gainst  that  season  comes 
Wherein  our  Saviour's  birth  is  celebrated. 

This  bird  of  dawning  singeth  aiU  night  long; 

And  then,  they  say,  no  spirit  dares  stir  abroad; 

The  nights  are  wholesome ; then  no  planets  strike, 

No  fairy  takes,  nor  witch  hath  power  to  charm. 

So  hallowed  and  so  gracious  is  the  time." 


MAUDE  AND  M I K I A M. 


m 

A Delief  still  lingers  in  some  quarters  that  at  midnight 
nn  Christmas  Eve  the  cattle  in  their  stalls  fall  down  on 
their  knees  in  adoration  of  the  infant  Saviour,  as  the  older 
legend  re[)orts  of  those  at  Bethlehem  on  the  night  of  the 
nativity. 

Bees,  too,  are  said  to  sing  in  their  hives  at  the  same  time. 
All  nature  was  thus  supposed  to  rejoice  in  the  birth  of  the 
worhl’s  Redeemer. 

To  us,  the  uproarious  revelry  of  the  olden  times  seems 
but  illy  to- comport  with  the  religious  joy  which  ought  to 
fill  the  hearts  of  Christians  at  the  recurrence  of  these  sacred 
anniversaries;  but  there  were  some  things  even  then  to  be 
commended ; for  it  was  at  that  season  thaf  benevolence  was 
most  abundant,  old  friendships  renewed,  old  quarrels  healed, 
and  charity  evoked. 

The  poor  and  destitute  shared  the  Christmas  bounty ; 
from  the  throne  down  through  all  classes  contributing  their 
_ mite  in  keeping  the  festival  that  declareth  peace  on  earth, 
and  good-will  toward  men.’’ 

On  this  occasion,  however,  H^he  joy  at  Ravenscliff  was 
somewhat  lessened  by  the  positive  refusal  of  the  Baron  of 
Hawksworth  to  join  in  their  festivities ; for  when  such  de- 
nials came,  they  were  received  as  renewed  declarations  of 
enmity. 

Still,  as  this  untoward  circumstance  aflTected  but  a small 
circle,  Sir  Walter  Scott’s  lines  may  well  apply  to  the  island 
kingdom  in  the  olden  times. 


I 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAH.  69 

‘•England  was  merry  England  when 
Old  Christmas  brought  his  sports  again. 

’Twas  Christmas  broached  the  mightiest  ale ; 

*Twas  Christmas  told  the  merriest  tale : 

A Christmas  gambol  oft  could  cheer 

The  poor  man’?  heart  through  half  the  year 


/• 


ClxATlEK  VI, 


THE  BRAVE  DAYS  OF  OLD. 

rPHOUGH  a,  time  of  unrestrained  revelry,  when  all  the 
inhabitants  of  the  castle  were  bent  only  upon  present 
enjoyment,  Maude  forsook  not  her  turret,  nor  her  book. 

We  find  her  daily,  at  the  early  morning  hour,  pondering 
over  the  blessed  volume,  and  drinking  in,  as  at  a pure  foun- 
tain, the  water  of  life.  As  she  learned  more  and  more  of 
the  spirituality  of  true  religion,  her  worship  in  the  chapel 
assumed  a different  phase,  thoug\i  the  forms  appeared  the 
saihe. 

When  others  offered  adoration  to  the  Virgin,  or  implored 
the  intercession  of  the  saints,  Maude’s  spirit  held  commu- 
nion with  the  Saviour  of  sinners ; for,  obeying  the  call  of 
the  Master  himself,  and  sitting  at  his  feet,  she  was  learning 
of  him. 

Wilfred  the  page  is  often  found  tarrying  a few  minutes 
in  the  turret,  deenly  interested  in  the  work  of  the  Lady 
Maude,  and  occasionally  dropping  a word  about  passing 
events. 

“ Didst  wot  of  my  visit  to  the  grim  Baron  of  Hawks- 
worth  ? ” said  the  youth. 

“ When  didst  see  the  baron  ? ” inquired  Maude. 


70 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


71 


“But  a fortnight  syth  the  Lord  of  Ravenscliff  sendeth 
me  with  a generous  summons  to  the  Christmas  keeping  ; but 
the  denial  seemeth  not  only  discourteous  as  a knight,  but 
of  ill  omen  as  an  enemy.’’ 

“It  grieveth  me,  Wilfred,  sorely,”  replied  Maude;  “for 
.it  speaketh  of  bad  blood  toward  our  good  father;  and  he 
deserve th  it  not.” 

“ When  an  enemy  refuseth  the  drowning  of  feuds  in  the 
wassail  bowl,  at  this  season,  it  showeth  dark,  revengeful 
plots  in  the  secrets  of  the  heart.  Lady  Maude.” 

“ It  grieveth  me  in  two  ways,  Wilfred ; for  it  keepeth  the 
others  away  from  Ravensclifi’at  last,  I trow.” 

Wilfred  is  an  earnest  student,  and  now  that  he  has  actu- 
ally read  his  first  lesson  without  lielp,  w^e  find  Maude  re- 
joicing over  their  mutual  triumph. 

“ Saidst  I not  so,  good  Wilfred,  that  thou  wouldst  soon 
read  the  Gospel  ? ” 

“ These  be  very  small  words,  lady  ; not  one  have  I read 
yet  in  the  book.” 

Maude  smiled,  and,  opening  the  Gospel,  pointed  to  the 
blessed  words,  which,  slowdy,  Wilfred  read. 

“I  am  — the  way,  — the  truth,  — and  — the  life : — 
no  man,”  — and  there  he  was  obliged  to  stop, — “cometh 
unto  the  Father,  but  by  me,”  continued  Maude.  “ Knowcst 
thou  what  that  meaneth,  good  Wilfred?  It  telleth  us  that 
by  Jesus  only,  and  not  by  saints.^  and  penances,  and  Avorks, 
do  we  reach  the  heavenly  city.” 

“Blessed  wilt  thou  be  in  that  holy  place,  Lady  Maude* 
for  thou  art  my  guide  all  the  way,  I trow.” 


72 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Respectfully  he  took  the  little  hand  within  his  own,  and 
pressing  a light  kiss  upon  its  surface,  he  passed  out,  leaving 
Maude  sitting  thoughtfully  by  her  table. 

She  regarded  the  lonely  page  with  the  tender  affection 
nf  a sister,  and  this  sudden  outburst  on  his  part  had  dis- 
turbed the  quiet  nature  of  their  intercourse.  And  on  his  own 
part,  we  find  him  seated  by  his  little  loophole  in  the  corri- 
dor, looking  out  upon  the  winter  landscape,  thinking  of  the 
fair  young  damsel  in  the  turret,  and  of  the  time  when  Guy 
should  bear  away  the  prize ; for  he  had  read  truly  the  na- 
ture of  the  tie  that  bound  the  two.  No  woman’s  heart 
throbbed  with  the  interest  of  kindred  for  the  page,  — neither 
mother,  sister,  nor  aunt  claimed  him  as  their  own ; for  all 
slept  quietly  under  the  green  sod  of  the  valley. 

The  wintry  winds  moaned  sadly  through  the  long  corri- 
dor, and  their  melancholy  music  was  in  harmony  with  Wil- 
fred’s spirit ; for  he  had  learned  of  late  how  hopelessly  he 
loved  the  Lady  Maude  de  Vere. 

The  customs  of  those  days,  though  coarse  and  unrefined, 
were  yet  marked  by  a hearty  hospitality ; for  during  these 
holidays,  the  barons  and  knights  kept  open  house  for  a fort- 
night or  more,  when  nothing  was  heard  but  jollity  and 
feasting. 

The  grand  feast,  however,  given  by  the  feudal  chieftain 
to  his  friends  and  retainers,  took  place  with  great  pomp  and 
display  on  Christmas-day. 

After  the  morning  mass  was  said,  the  ladies  were  occupied 
chiefly  in  preparing  for  dinner. 

Very  busy  and  eager  were  the  youthful  crowd  assembled 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


73 


in  the  Lady  Jaqueline^s  room  to  discuss  the  toilet  of  the 
day,  the  lady  of  the  caocie  guiding  their  choice.  The  heavy 
winter  colors  of  crimson,  rich  green,  and  deep  blue  seemed 
to  win  the  day,  and  rich  embroideries  of  gold  or  miniver  for 
trimmings.  The  general  lack  of  intellectual  culture  might, 
perhaps,  excuse  the  all -engrossing  love  of  female  display 
witnessed  in  that  feudal  castle ; but  what  shall  we  say  of  the 
present  devotion  to  the  same  vanities,  where,  in  some  ex- 
treme cases,  a style  as  grotesque  as  in  those  ancient  days 
prevails  now  ? 

We  fear  that  it  must  stamp  woman  as  essentially  vain 
and  frivolous  in  all  ages  of  the  world ; but  this  we  know, 
that  where  the  heart  is  supremely  fixed  upon  better  things, 
it  is  very  easy  to  obey  the  apostolic  rule  concerning  dress. 

We  will  take  our  seat  a moment,  apart  from  the  gay  com- 
pany, and  study  the  picture. 

There  is  a bright  butterfly,  marked  by  her  blue  eyes  and 
profusion  of  light  hair,  flitting  around,  sparkling,  laughing, 
and  chattering  with  two  or  three  others  quite  as  merry  as 
lierself. 

It  shall  be  the  rich  green  tunic  and  the  rose-colored  kir- 
tle,’'  said  the  young  demoiselle;  ‘‘for  that  becometh  me 
most.” 

The  other  young  ladies  looked  on  with  envious  eyes  at 
the  richly-embroidered  suit,  glittering  with  gold.  But  who 
is  that  leaning  on  the  table,  near  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  lis- 
tening so  quietly  to  that  lady’s  directions  ? 

We  admire  the  gay  young  creatures;  but  we  turn  again 
to  that  sweetly  thoughtful  face,  so  manifestly  “ in  the  world| 
7 


74 


MAUDE  AND  MIEIAM. 


but  not  of  the  world ; ’’  for  Maude  de  Vere  is  a citizen  of 
another,  that  is  a heavenly,  country. 

“Just  as  thou  sayest,  mother  mine,’’  said  the  young  lady, 
as  she  laid  down  the  suit  chosen  by  her  mother. 

The  robing  accomplished,  there  was  the  signal  for  dinner. 

Heralded  by  a flourish  of  trumpets,  and  accompanied  by 
the  strains  of  minstrels,  the  sewer  entered  the  banqueting- 
hall,  carrying  the  great  dish  of  the  feast  — the  boar’s  head  — 
on  a salver  of  silver ; — for  no  meaner  metal  could  answer, — 
followed  by  a stately  procession  of  nobles,  knights,  and  la- 
dies, the  sewer  singing  : 

“€aput,  apri  defero. 

Reddens,  laudes  Domino. 

The  boar’s  head  in  hand  bring  I, 

With  garlands  gay,  and  rosemary; 

I pray  you  all  sing  merrily, 

Qui  estis  in  convivio. 

The  boar’s  head,  I understand, 

Is  the  chief  service  in  this  land; 

Look  wherever  it  be  found, 

Servite,  cum  cantico. 

Be  glad,  both  more  and  less ; 

For  this  hath  ordained  our  steward, 

To  cheer  you  all  this  Christmas  — 

The  boar’s  head  and  mustard  ! 

Caput,  apri  defero, 

Reddens,  laudes  Domino.” 

The  brawner’s  head  was  then  placed  upon  the  table  with 
Bolemn  gravity.  Sweet  rosemary  and  bays  were  spread 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


76 


around  the  dish  ; in  his  great  tusks  a large  pippin  was  placed 
with  sauce  abundantly  seasoned  with  mustard,  the  latter  in- 
dispensable. Then  the  guests  and  members  of  the  house- 
hold were  seated  according  to  their  rank,  those  of  the  high- 
est on  the  dais,  over  which  were  suspended  the  banners  of 
France  and  England  ; fur  two  French  knights,  lately  re- 
turned from  Palestine,  were  the  most  honored  guests.  A 
number  of  seats  were  yet  vacant,  evidently  reserved  for  la- 
dies who  were  not  present;  for  a very  imposing  part  of  the 
ceremonies  yet  remained  to  be  performed,  — the  placing  of 
the  peacock  upon  the  table.  To  prepare  this  bird  for  the 
feast  was  no  small  task.  Carefully  stripped  off,  with  the 
plumage  adhering,  the  bird  was  then  roasted ; when  done 
and  partially  cooled,  sewed  up  again  in  its  feathers,  its  beak 
being  gilt  before  sent  to  the  table.  Sometimes  the  whole  body 
was  covered  with  gold  leaf,  and  a piece  of  cotton  saturated 
with  spirits  placed  in  its  beak,  and  lighted  before  the  carver 
commenced  operations.  The  bird  was  stuffed  with  spices 
and  sweet  herbs,  basted  with  yelks  of  eggs,  and  served  with 
plenty  of  rich  gravy. 

At  tournaments,  the  bird  was  usually  served  in  a pie,  at 
one  end  of  which  his  plumed  crest  appeared  above  tl\e 
crust,  while  at  the  other,  his  tail  was  unfolded  in  all  its 
glory.  The  noble  bird  was  not  served  by  common  hands, 
that  privilege  being  reserved  for  the  lady  guests  most  dis- 
tinguished by  birth  or  beauty.  On  this  occasion,  the  Lady 
Geraldine  de  Courcy  headed  the  procession,  attired  with  a 
magnificence  becoming  a princess  of  royal  blood.  To  her, 
as  the  queen  of  beauty,  was  appointed  the  honor  of  carrying 


76 


HAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


the  dish,  to  the  sound  of  music,  the  rest  of  the  ladies  follow- 
ing in  due  order,  glittering  with  rich  jewels.  As  the  ladies 
entered,  the  guests  already  seated  arose,  while  the  music 
continued  discoursing  sweet  sounds  until  the  bearer  of  the 
dish  had  set  it  down  before  the  Knight  of  the  Red  Cross, 
the  most  distinguished  of  the  brave  guests,  and  then  all  took 
their  appointed  seats  at  the  board. 

It  must  have  been  in  compliment  to  a guest  that  any  lady 
could  have  been  said  to  excel  in  beauty  and  grace  Maude 
and  Eveline  de  Vere,  in  their  elegant  apparel.  Maude’s 
intellectual  and  spiritual  beauty,  and  Eveline’s  brilliant  and 
fascinating  appearance,  certainly  had  no  rivals  around  the 
Christmas  board;  the  blush  of  maiden  modesty  enhancing 
the  charms  of  each.  But  in  those  rude  days  female  loveli- 
ness did  not  draw  off  attention  from  the  feast  spread  out 
before  the  company. 

But  there  were  some  remarkable  guests  scattered  around 
the  room  * for  dogs  were  privileged  characters,  and  we  find 
not  a few  under  the  table,  near  their  masters’  feet,  waiting 
for  their  share  of  the  feast ; for  they  were  allowed  to  search 
for  the  bones  among  the  rushes,  and  none  appeared  to  think 
them  intruders  there.  Think  of  dogs  at  a modern  dinner- 
party ! 

Geese,  capons,  pheasants  dressed  with  ambergris,  and 
pies  of  carps’  tongues,  helped  to  furnish  the  table  in  bygone 
Christmases ; but  there  was  one  national  dish  which  was 
held  indispensable.  This  was  furmety,  concocted,  according 
to  the  most  ancient  formula  extant,  on  this  wise : 

“Take  clean  wheat,  and  bray  it  in  a mortar,  that  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


77 


hulls  be  all  gone  off,  and  seethe  it  till  it  burst,  and  take  it 
up  and  let  it  cool ; an  1 take  clean,  fresh  broth,  and  sweet 
railk  of  almonds,  or  sweet  milk  of  kine,  and  temper  it  all, 
and  take  the  yelks  of  eggs.  Boil  it  a little,  and  set  it  down, 
and  mess  it  forth  with  fat  venison  or  fresh  mutton.” 

Furmety,  sweetened  with  sugar,  was  a favorite  dish  of 
itself ; the  clean  broth  being  omitted  when  a lord  was  to  be 
the  partaker. 

Mince-pies  were  indispensable,  arid  plum-porridge  was  al- 
ways served  with  the  first  course  of  a Christmas  dinner.  It 
was  made  by  boiling  beef  or  mutton  with  broth  thickened 
with  brown  bread.  When  half  boiled,  raisins,  currants, 
prunes,  cloves,  mace,  and  ginger  were  added,  and,  when  all 
was  thoroughly  boiled,  sent  to  table  with  the  best  meats. 
The  friends  of  temperance  will  be  grieved  to  read  what  a 
carolist  of  the  thirteenth  century  says  about  the  liquor  at 
Christmas  feasts;  for  his  song  certainly  indicates  great 
license  given  to  the  dangerous  appetite. 

“ Lordlings,  Christmas  loves  good  drinking. 

Wines  of  Gascoigne,  Florence,  Anjou ; 

English  ale  that  drives  out  thinking,— 

Prince  of  liquors,  old  or  new. 

Every  neighbor  shares  the  bowl, 

Drinks  of  spicy  liquor  deep; 

Drinks  his  fill  without  control, 

Till  he  drowns  his  care  in  sleep.” 

The  great  baronial  hall  presented  truly  an  exciting  pict- 
ure, heavily  dressed  with  holly,  bay,  and  laurel,  the  great 
7* 


78 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Yule  log  sending  out  its  fiery  glow  over  the  guests,  as  it 
roared  up  the  spacious  chimney,  the  monster  Yule  candle 
in  some  consf)icuous  place,  the  numerous  torches  giving  out 
their  blaze  of  light. 

We  miss  the  magnificent  curtains  and  gilt  cornices  of 
modern  days,  — there  being,  however,  hangings  of  tapestry 
in  their  place.  No  Wilton  carpets  cover  the  floor;  green 
rushes  being  the  substitute.  The  eye  looks  around  in  vain 
for  elegantly  carved  rosewood,  or  even  more  sober  walnut ; 
the  nobles  of  those  early  days  contenting  themselves  with 
long  and  heavy  oaken  table^?>  wdth  seats  rude  enough  in  our 
eyes.  Height  and  space  were  perhaps  the  only  features  of 
grandeur ; even  comfort  was  seldom  found  in  these  old  feu- 
dal castles. 

But  there  was  splendor  in  the  dresses  of  the  guests : the 
ladies  and  knights  in  glittering  attire ; the  shields  of  the 
latter  hanging  upon  the  walls,  and  banners  weaving  over  the 
table. 

At  the  lower  tables  there  were  crowds  of  the  vassals  of 
the  popular  baron ; and  the  great  hall,  in  all  its  length,  re- 
sounded with  the  inspiring  music  of  the  minstrels.  Truly 
this  was  a season  of  uproarious  mirth  and  jollity ; to  modern 
ears  coarse  and  sensual,  indeed. 

The  ladies  retired  ere  the  language  and  manners  of  such 
a revel  should  offend  their  delicacy;  for  they  could  well 
imagine  what  such  license  given  to  the  appetite  would  be 
likely  to  produce.  Ere  the  revellers  departed,  one  of  the 
Saxon  gentry  proposed  the  health  of  the  Baron  of  Ra- 
venscliff,  and  drank  from  the  wassail  bowl  in  deep  liba- 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


79 


tioiis,  all  pledging  themselves  to  renewed  devotion  in  the 
service  of  their  feudal  lord. 

In  our  times,  Christmas  day  is  shorn  of  its  ancient  exhibi- 
tions of  boisterous  mirth  and  jollity.  The  mummers  are  no 
more,  the  waits  have  vanished,  the  lord  of  misrule  has  de- 
parted, and  we  should  be  sorry  to  see  their  heathenish 
sports  return ; but  the  sweet  Christmas  carols  are  so  akin 
to  the  angelic  choristers  on  the  plains  of  Judea,  that  we 
would  fain  retain  their  gentle  ministry. 

Let  us  banish  far  away  the  heathenish  customs,  and  re- 
tain the  Christian.  The  sweet  family  gatherings  around 
the  Christmas  board,  the  interchange  of  gifts  of  love,  the 
active  deeds  of  benevolence  which  the  season  so  beautifully 
suggests,  the  dear  memories  of  the  past,  the  joyous  hopes  of 
the  future ; let  us  liave  them  all  in  their  purity  and  blessed- 
ness at  least  once  a year,  when  reunited  families  can  join  in 
singing : “ Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  and  on  earth  peace, 
good-will  toward  men.” 

The  mind  goes  back  to  those  old  days,  nearly  seven  hun- 
dred years  ago,  tracing  from  our  present  standpoint  the 
centuries  on  the  dial-plate  of  time,  — the  centuries  of  de- 
generacy and  crime,  of  wickedness  and  darkness,  — on  to 
the  blessed  days  that  are  coming ; and  here  it  seems  as  if 
every  Christian  heart  can  echo  the  grand  sentiments  in 
Tennyson’s  beautiful  ‘‘Ode  to  the  Old  Year.” 

‘‘Ring  out,  wild  bells,  to  the  wild  sky, 

The  flying  cloud,  the  frosty  light, 

The  year  is  dying  in  the  night; 

Bing  out,  wild  bells,  and  let  him  die. 


80 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“Ring  out  the  old,  ring  in  the  new, 

Ring,  happy  bells,  across  the  snow, 

The  year  is  going,  let  him  go ; 

Ring  out  the  false,  ring  in  the  true 

‘Ring  out  the  grief  that  saps  the  mind, 

For  those  that  here  we  see  no  more; 
Ring  out  the  feud  of  rich  and  poor. 

Ring  in  redress  to  all  mankind 

“Ring  out  a slowly -dying  cause, 

And  ancient  forms  of  party  strife; 

Ring  in  the  nobler  modes  of  life. 

With  sweeter  manners,  purer  laws. 

“Ring  out  the  want,  the  care,  the  sin. 

The  faithless  coldness  of  the  times: 

Ring  out,  ring  out,  my  mournful  rhymet- 
But  ring  the  fuller  minstrel  in. 

“Ring  out  false  pride  in  place  and  blood. 
The  civic  slander  and  the  spite ; 

Ring  in  the  love  of  truth  and  right; 
Ring  in  the  common  love  of  good. 

“Ring  out  old  shapes  of  foul  disease ; 

Ring  out  the  narrow  lust  for  gold; 

Ring  out  the  thousand  wars  of  old ; 

Ring  in  the  thousand  years  of  peace. 

‘Ring  in  the  valiant  man,  and  free. 

The  larger  heart,  the  kindlier  hand ; 

Ring  out  the  darkness  of  the  land; 

Ring  in  the  Christ  that  is  to  bet*’ 


CHAPTER  VII. 


MAUDE  IN  THE  TWILIGHT. 

“ Give  me  the  book : oh,  let  me  read  I 
My  soul  is  strangely  stirred; 

They  are  such  words  of  love  and  truth 
As  ne’er  before  I heard.” 

rriHESE  beautiful  lines  of  sweet  Mary  Howitt  express,  in 
the  most  touching  manner,  Maude’s  emotions  in  the 
turret,  where  she  has  commenced  a deep  and  earnest  study 
of  the  blessed  Gospel.  On  bended  knees  before  her  little 
table,  we  behold  the  young  girl,  with  heart  raised  up  to 
heaven  for  light  upon  the  sacred  volume. 

She  has  reached  the  remarkable  conversation  between  the 
Lord  Jesus  and  Nicoderaus,  and  truly  is  she  filled  with 
wonder. 

Maude  has  had  no  other  idea  heretofore  of  the  doctrines 
of  our  common  faith  than  those  derived  from  the  Romish 
Church,  in  which  she  has  been  taught  that  by  contact  with 
the  ordinances  of  Christianity  she  has  been  made  a Chris- 
tian, and  that,  in  some  mysterious  manner,  she  has  really 
eaten  the  body  and  blood  ^f  our  Lord,  and  is  thus  incorpo- 
rated into  his  church. 


F 


81 


82 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


But  what  meaneth  all  this  teaching  of  our  Lord  ? “ Ex- 

cept a man  be  born  again,  he  cannot  see  the  kingdom  of 
God.”  Nicodemus  seemed  as  much  in  the  dark  as  Maude ; 
for  his  questions  expressed  her  own  doubts. 

‘‘  How  can  a man  be  born  again  when  he  is  old  ? ” 

“What  meaneth  the  Saviour’s  answer?”  questioned 
Maude. 

“ Except  a man  be  born  of  water  and  of  the  Spirit,  he 
cannot  enter  into  the  kingdom  of  God.” 

She  thinks  she  comprehends  the  former  clause  to  allude 
to  baptism ; but  what  meaneth  the  second  condition,  “ born 
of  the  Spirit  ” ? It  must  mean  something  that  taketh  place 
within.  And  “ what  meaneth  the  kingdom  of  God  ? Doth 
it  point  to  the  kingdom  of  heaven  above,  or  to  the  church  * 
of  Christ  on  earth  ? ” She  thinks  the  latter ; for  none  can 
become  a member  of  Christ’s  visible  church  on  earth  but 
by  his  own  method,  and  that  is  by  baptism.  “ But,  then,” 
Maude  continues,  “a  man  may,  by  baptism,  be  a member 
of  Christ’s  church  who  may  not  be  born  of  the  Spirit ; ” for 
her  own  consciousness  declares  the  fact. 

This  old  feudal  castle  is  filled  with  members  of  the 
church  on  earth  whose  lives  certainly  do  not  correspond 
with  that  description. 

She  reads  slowly  on : 

“ That  which  is  born  of  the  flesh  is  flesh ; and  that  which 
is  born  of  the  Spirit  is  spirit. 

“Marvel  not  that  I said  unto  thee,  Ye  must  be  born 
again. 

“ The  wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  thou  hearest  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


83 


sound  thereol‘,  but  canst  not  tell  whence  it  cometh,  and 
whitlier  it  goeth  : so  is  every  one  that  is  born  of  the  Spirit/’ 

Maude  laid  down  her  book,  and,  with  a soul  that  sympa- 
thized truly  with  Nicodemus,  said : ‘‘  How  can  these  things 
be?”  » So  new,  so  strange,  seemed  this  spiritual  doctrine! 
And  yet,  in  the  depths  of  her  heart,  Maude  felt  how  true. 
Clasping  her  hands  in  the  earnestness  of  prayerful  feeling, 
she  read,  with  joyful  trust: 

“And  as  Moses  lifted  up  the  serpent  in  the  wilderness, 
even  so  must  the  Son  of  man  be  lifted  up : 

“That  whosoever  belie veth  in  him  should  not  perish,  but 
have  eternal  life.” 

“ I have  found  the  key,”  thought  Maude ; “ faith  unlock- 
eth  the  mystery,  — faith  in  the  Son  of  God,  faith  in  the 
Son  of  man ! Precious  \vords ! ‘ Whosoever  believeth.’ 

Maude  de  Vere  belie  veth,  and,  humble  as  she  be,  she  hath 
eternal  life.” 

Tears  rained  over  the  sweet  young  face,  as  she  continued 
to  read : 

“For  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only-be- 
gotten Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  per- 
ish, but  have  everlasting  life.” 

The  head  so  deeply  bowed,  the  hands  so  fervently  clasped, 
were  mute  expressions  of  the  grasp  of  faith  with  which  she 
clung  to  these  blessed  promises. 

“ Whosoever  ! whosoever  ! ” murmured  Maude.  “ Oh,  the 
depth  of  love  1 How  is  it  that  I have  lived  so  long,  and 
never  known  the  blessedness  of  the  love  of  God?  Can 
Father  Ambrose  know  it?  An’  he  did,  would  he  lay  pen- 


84 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


ances  upon  sinful  souls  ? An’  he  knew  it,  could  he  shut  the 
good  news  up  in  his  own  heart  ? ” 

Maude  remembered  the  early  teachings  of  the  sacristy, 
where  God  was  made  known  to  her  as  a hard  judge,  to  be 
appeased  only  by  fasts  and  penances  and  outward  services 
of  will  worship,  by  invocations  to  the  saints  and  to  the  Vir- 
gin ; while  Jesus,  the  Son  of  the  Gospel,  sat  on  a distant 
throne  of  the  universe,  enveloped  in  clouds  of  superstition 
which  hid  his  blessed  face ; for  he  shone  not  for  Maude  de 
Vere.  She  remembered,  too,  the  horrible  pictures  of  purga- 
tory, where  unhappy  souls  were  represented  as  writhing  in 
every  form  of  torture  which  the  malice  of  devils  could  in- 
vent ; for  many  a night  she  lay  awake  wondering  how  much 
of , this  anguish  she  might,  perhaps,  endure  in  that  gehenna 
of  the  Romish  Church. 

But  now  it  was  all  so  different ; for  Maude  began  to  feel 
that  a heavenly  Father  smiled  ou  her  when  he  looked  upon 
her  as  a believer  in  his  dear  Son. 

It  was  a cold,  sharp  day ; but  ere  she  left  the  turret,  she 
opened  the  casement  to  look  upward  to  the  wintry  sky,  and 
to  think  of  the  pathway  to  the  heavenly  city,  where  angels 
were  ascending  and  descending  upon  the  Son  of  man.  The 
eye  of  faith  for  a brief  moment  pierced  beyond  those  earthly 
vapors,  and  entered  that  within  the  veil. 

Maude  remembered  the  conduct  of  Andrew,  who,  as  soon 
as  he  had  found  the  Lord,  sought  out  his  brother  Simon,  to 
tell  the  good  news,  and  to  bring  him  to  Jesus. 

Philip,  too,  as  soon  as  he  had  found  the  Messias,  sought 
for  Nathaniel,  to  publish  the  glad  tidings. 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


8^ 


“ Are  there  no  Andrews,  no  Simons,  no  Philips,  no  Na- 
thaniels here  ? ’’  questioned  Maude,  in  her  new-born  interest. 
The  inquiry  sank  deep  into  the  young  heart,  as  she  turned 
away  to  join  the  family  circle. 

But  ere  Maude  left  the  turret  she  locked  up  in  a small 
closet  Father  Ambrose’s  copy  of  the  Gospel  and  her  own 
manuscript,  just  completed. 

Next  day  she  was  surprised  by  a knock  at  the  door  of 
her  sanctum,  and,  opening  it,  her  brother  Lancelot  stood 
before  her. 

‘‘  How  didst  find  me,  brother  mine  ? ” inquired  the  young 
demoiselle. 

“ I was  thrown  from  my  horse  to-day,  Maude,  in  the  tilt- 
ing-yard,  and  I need  thy  skilful  hand  to  bind  up  the  wound. 
Thou  thinkest  that  I wot  not  of  thy  little  turret,  Maude ; 
but  thy  footsteps  be  all  known  to  thy  brother.” 

Uncovering  his  right  arm,  a deep  gash  was  disclosed,  just 
above  the  elbow,  and  a modern  young  lady  would  have 
been  surprised  to  see  with  what  coolness  Maude  examined 
the  wound,  and  staunched  the  blood  with  her  .pocket-hand- 
kerchief. Sounding  her  silver  whistle,  she  soon  summoned 
the  page,  who  was  always  within  hearing  at  this  hour  of  the 
day. 

“ Hasten,  Wilfred,  to  the  surgeon's  room,  and  bring  me  a 
basin  of  cool  water,  some  lint  and  bandages,  and  a small  in- 
strument to  remove  the  pieces  of  stone  in  my  brother’s  wound ; 
but  be  speedy ; ” — for  the  slight  bandage  being  insufficient, 
the  wound  was  bleeding  freely.  Very  bravely  and  tenderly 

did  the  young  operator  remove  the  irritating  matter  from  the 

8 


86 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


wound,  staunch  it  in  cool  water,  and  applying  lint  and  baud 
aging  it  skilfully,  she  kissed  her  brother  fondly,  saying : 

“ Art  comfortable,  Lancelot  ? ” 

^ Thou  art  a skilful  leech,  Maude ; thy  fingers  be  so  soft 
and  thy  touch  so  gentle,  that  I scarcely  felt  the  pain  of  re- 
moving the  little  stones.*’ 

When  relieved,  Lancelot  looked  around  the  room,  saying : 
“ What  bringeth  thee  here  daily,  Maude  ? Thou  seemest 
strangely  unlike  the  young  demoiselles  below.” 

The  sister  smiled,  as  she  replied  : 

Thou  knowest  not,  brother  mine,  what  blessed  company 
meeteth  me  in  this  lonely  turret.” 

“ Doth  our  mother,  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  know  aught  of 
such  secret  company,  Maude,”  said  her  brother,  seriously 
“ Methinketh  it  becometh  not  a young  demoiselle  to  hide 
aught  from  our  good  mother.” 

“ Thou  knowest  not,  Lancelot ; but  I will  show  thee,”  and^ 
opening  a closet,  Maude  brought  out  her  precious  books. 

‘‘  The  Gospel  of  St.  John ! ” said  her  brother,  in  great  sur- 
prise. “ And  this  ? ” (opening  the  other,)  be  this  truly  thy 
work,  Maude  ? ” 

“The  work  of  many  weeks,  Lancelot;  but  blessed  and 
holy  hath  been  the  task.” 

“ Thou  seemest  a feat  scribe,  Maude.  Why,  thy  work  is 
fairer  than  the  monk’s.  But  where  didst  thou  get  the  holy 
Gospel?” 

“ I hired  it  from  Father  Ambrose,  Lancelot.” 

“ How  didst  thou  manage  that  ? ” 

“ The  friar  favoreth  thy  sister,  Lancelot,”  said  Maud^ 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


87 


smiling;  ‘‘and  the  promise  of  furmety,  pottage,  and  good 
ale  hath  bought  the  priest.’’ 

“What  dost  thou  want  with  the  monks’  book,  Maude?” 
“The  monks’  book,  Lancelot!  How  cometh  it  to  be 
theirs  ? The  sun  shineth  for  all,  brother  mine ; the  flowers 
bloom  for  all.  Thinkest  thou  that  the  Father’s  book  cometh 
down  only  for  the  monks  ? ” 

“ Thou  knowest  it  not,  Maude ; thou  hast  not  the  learning 
of  Holy  Church.  Leave  the  book  where  she  hath  put  it.” 
“ Thou  wottest  not,  Lancelot,  the  riches  hidden  in  the 
blessed  book,  or  thou  sayest  not  such  foolish  words.” 

“ What  hast  thou  learned,  Maude?  ” 

“ I wot,  Lancelot,  that  we  need  not  human  learning  to 
read  that  book ; for  the  Spirit  be  promised  to  all  who  seek 
it.  And  I wot  too  that  there  be  but  one  way  to  the  heavenly 
city,  and  the  Gospel  telleth  that  it  be  a straight  and  narrow 
way  ; for  there  be  but  one  Saviour,  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  not 
a great  multitude,  as  the  friar  teacheth  us.  It  is  a short  way, 
when  the  eye  seeth  Jesus  only.  The  Spirit  leadeth  us  all 
the  way  ; the  angels  watch  us,  and  that  be  the  company  that 
rneeteth  me  in  the  lonely  turret.” 

“ Truly  thou  talkest  riddles,  Maude  ! ” 

“ Would  that  thou  knewest,  brother  mine,  something  of 
the  peace  that  even  the  little  glimpse  that  visiteth  me  here 
hath  brought  to  thy  sister  Maude.” 

“ Thou  hast  wrought  a wondrous  work,  Maude,  in  copy- 
ing out  all  this  Gospel.” 

“It  hath  been  a blessed  work,  and  to-morrow  I write 
another.” 


88 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


What  needest  thou  with  so  many,  Maude  ? ” 

“ The  good  tidings  must  not  be  shut  up  in  my  own  bosom^ 
Lancelot ; for  I read  that  when  Andrew  findeth  the  Lord, 
he  seeketh  to  bring  his  brother  to  Jesus ; and  thou  art  mine, 
Lancelot.  I know  not  yet  who  shall  own  these  copies ; but 
I will  not  be  idle,  and  the  Lord  showeth  me  where  to  be- 
stow them.^^ 

“ It  seemeth  strange,  Maude,  that  thou  shouldst  be  so  dif- 
ferent from  the  demoiselles  below,  who  delight  only  in  light 
and  airy  things.” 

Lancelot  pressed  a brother’s  kiss  upon  the  cheek  of  his 
fair  sister,  as  he  turned  to  leave  the  room. 

“ Thou  art  a blessed  sister,  Maude.  I hear  Father  Am- 
brose talk  of  the  long  list  of  saints  who  guard  us  on  our 
way;  but  thou  art  mine,  fair  sister. ' 

Maude  led  her  brother  to  the  open  casement. 

‘‘  Seest  how  the  flood  of  sunlight  shineth  all  over  Ravens- 
clifl*,  Lancelot?  but  it  passeth  not  by  the  home  of  Hengist 
the  Saxon,  nor  the  hut  of  poor  Elswitha.  See  how  it  lighteth 
up  the  clump  of  trees  on  the  right  : there  dwell  some  of  the 
rudest  and  poorest  of  the  Saxon  hinds,  but  the  sun  passeth 
none  by ; and  so  methinketk  is  the  way  of  our  Father  with 
his  own  book.  But  stop  awhile  longer,  Lancelot : w^uldest 
like  to  hear  one  of  our  sweet  hymns  ? ” 

Maude  brought  out  her  cithern,  and  sang  with  deep  pathosi 
the  “ dulcis  memoria  ” of  St.  Bernard  : 

“Jesu!  the  very  thought  of  Thee 
With  sweetness  fills  my  breast; 

But  sweeter  far  Thy  face  to  see, 

^ And  in  Thy  presence  rest. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


89 


“Nor  voice  can  sing,  nor  heart  can  frame. 

Nor  can  the  memory  find, 

A sweeter  sound  than  Thy  blest  name, 

0 Saviour  of  mankind  I 

“O  Hope  of  every  contrite  heart! 

0 Joy  of  all  the  meek ! 

To  those  who  fall,  how  kind  Thou  art 
How  good  to  those  who  seek! 

But  what  to  those  who  find  ? Ah ! thi# 

Nor  tongue  nor  pen  can  show; 

The  love  of  Jesus,  what  it  is, 

None  but  His  loved  ones  know. 

‘<Jesu!  our  only  joy  be  Thou, 

As  Thou  our  prize  shalt  be; 

Jesu!  be  Thou  our  glory  now 
And  through  eternity.” 

Lancelot  listened  to  the  sweet  voice  singing  this  sacred 
hymn  with  such  heart-felt  tenderness,  and  perceived  that 
something  lay  hidden  in  that  young  heart  of  which  he  knew 
nothing. 

‘‘That  hymn  seemeth  addressed  to  a friend,  beloved 
Maude ; and  the  Lord  Jesus  seemeth  to  me  only  the  Saviour 
crowned  with  thorns  on  the  qrucifix  in  the  chapel,  but  very 
far  away  from  sinful  mortals.” 

“ The  Gospel  teacheth  me  that  he  is  not  much  offended, 
an’  we  draw  anigh  enough  to  touch  the  very  hem  of  his  gar- 
ment, brother.” 

Lancelot  had  much  food  for  thought  after  this  visit  to  his 
sister’s  turret. 


90 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


There  had  been  another  listener  in  the  corridor,  for,  with 
arms  folded  and  head  bowed  down,  Wilfred  had  stood  near 
the  door,  drinking  in  the  melody  of  the  lovely  voice. 

‘‘  A bird  to  sing  in  Guy  de  Mowbray’s  bower,”  sighed  the 
page ; ‘‘  Heaven  bless  them  both  ! ” 

As  the  light  of  the  pure  gospel  dawned  upon  Maude, 
most  singular  changes  took  place  in  her  worship  in  the 
chapel,  which  was  still  to  her  the  church  of  God  upon 
earth.  She  knew  naught  of  Protestantism  nor  the  Reforma- 
tion, for  they  were  things  unknown  as  yet  in  those  dark 
ages  ; but  the  matin  hour  and  the  time  of  even-song  brought 
her  into  sweet  communion  with  her  Saviour,  even  in  this 
Romish  chapel  of  mediaeval  days,  for  there  she  took  with 
her  the  simple  truths  learned  in  the  turret  from  Bede’s  pure 
Gospel. 

The  mass  was  now,  unconsciously  to  her,  the  memorial  of 
the  last  Supper ; the  music  wafted  her  spirit  to  heaven  ; and 
even  the  hour  of  confession  was  a solemn  interview  with 
Jesus,  the  Great  Mediator, — the  words  of  that  office,  however, 
beginning  to  grate  upon  her  ear.  Contact  with  the  pure 
word  of  God,  like  leaven  hidden  in  the  meal,  was  per 
meating  Maude’s  spiritual  nature,  entirely  unconscious  that 
m the  rich  Proven9al  plains,  in  the  middle  of  the  century 
in  which  she  lived,  the  seed  which  in  centuries  after  pro- 
duced the  Reformation  was  germinating  among  the  ancient 
Vaudois. 

As  early  as  1124,  Peter  of  Bruys,  Henry,  and  Arnold  of 
Brescia,  carried  the  torches  which  they  had  lighted  at  the 
pure  altar  of  the  Piedmontese  from  these  obscure  valleys 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


91 


into  tlie  Proveu9al  territories.  All  of  those  honored  names 
are  yet  preserved  among  the  lists  of  the  noble  army  of 
martyrs  who  sealed  their  faith  with  their  blood.  The  first 
discovered  congregation  of  this  kind  was  at  Orleans,  in 
France,  where  were  found  several  of  the  regular  clergy, 
and  a number  of  the  most  respectable  citizens,  holding  the 
new  faith.  ^ 

A council  was  convened,  wdiich,  after  having  tried  in  vain 
to  reclaim  the  wanderers,  resorted  to  the  final  argument  ot* 
Eome,  and  burned  them  all  at  the  stake.  But  Maude  knew 
naught  of  those  ancient  martyrs,  much  less  that  in  essential 
points  her  own  simple  faith  w^as  gradually  approaching 
theirs,  for  in  all  ages  this  is  the  road  by  which  we  reach  the 
Urbs  Beata. 


CHAPTER  VIIL 


THE  TROUBADOURS, 


HE  winter  is  deepening,  storms  are  frequent ; and  it  ia 


hard  to  keep  warm  in  this  old  castle,  with  its  high  ceil- 
ings, its  spacious  passages,  its  uncarpeted  floors,  and  uncur- 
tained casements.  The  sports  are  all  within  doors,  and  the 
ladies’  fingers  fly  more  merrily  over  their  tapestry  frames 
than  in  warmer  weather. 

It  is  the  twenty-second  of  January,  and  we  find  the  gay 
young  damsels  chatting  in  a lively  manner  over  the  spells 
of  St.  Agnes’s  Eve  on  the  night  before.  It  was  an  old  custom 
for  young  girls  to  take  a row  of  pins,  and,  picking  them  out 
one  by  one,  to  stick  them  slowly  in  their  sleeves,  singing  a 
pater-noster  after  each  one,  thus  insuring  that  her  dreams 
should  present  the  person  who  was  to  be  her  life  companion. 

Eveline  and  Gertrude  Ellerton  are  whispering  together 
over  the  success  of  their  charm. 

“It  is  sure  to  bring  the  future  lord,”  said  the  Lady 
Jaqueline;  “for  the  Baron  of  Ravenscliff*,  in  my  dream, 
presented  me  a rose  on  two  successive  eves  of  the  holy 
saint.” 

The  lady  of  the  castle  is  embroidering  a rich  piece  of 
tapestry  for  the  abbey  of  St.  Hilary,  and  a rare  specimen  of 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


93 


work  it  is,  representing  the  scenes  on  the  plains  of  Judea, 
when  the  heavenly  host  sang  their  Gloria  in  Excelsis 
Many  of  these  ancient  pieces  are  still  preserved,  representing 
historical  events. 

A guerdon  for  thy  dreams,  Maude!*’  said  her  sister. 

‘‘  Thou  wouldst  care  naught  to  hear  it,  sister  mine,”  said 
the  young  lady,  with  a smile ; for  I dreamed  only  of  mak- 
ing furmety  for  Father  Ambrose.” 

“Didst  not  remember  St.  Agnes’s  Eve,  Maude?”  said 
Eveline. 

“ I must  own  that  I passed  by  the  holy  eve  without  even 
thinking  of  the  charm.” 

“ Thou  shouldst  have  stayed  at  the  priory,  Maude.” 

The  wind  is  howling  fiercely  thrmigh  the  passages  and 
around  the  loose  casements  of  the  keep,  and  there  is  every 
indication  of  a storm.  Hail,  sleet,  and  snow  are  beating  in 
through  the  cracks,  for  there  are  many  under  the  doors  and 
along  the  linings  of  the  casements ; and  the  wind  is  blowing 
the  tapestry  that  hangs  upon  the  walls  in  quite  a rough  man- 
ner, the  breeze  that  sets  it  in  motion  fanning  the  cheeks  of 
the  shivering  occupants.  The  huge  logs  are  piled  upon  the 
rude  fire-dogs  in  the  immense  chimney-place,  and  the  ladies, 
whose  fingers  are  becoming  benumbed,  have  added  warm 
mantles  to  their  winter  attire,  and  have  gathered  around  the 
roaring  fire,  where  favorite  dogs  have  settled  themselves, 
privileged  guests  everywhere.  The  servants,  too,  are  hover- 
ing around  the  kitchen  fire,  preparing  the  evening  meal ; 
great  logs  blazed  in  the  fireplaces,  two  of  which  were  now 


94 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM.  \ 


in  use;  but  in  times  of  great  feasts,  all  four  roared  and 
crackled,  makijig  an  intense  furnace  heat. 

Old  Kaoul  flew  about  in  a tunic  of  heavy  serge,  with 
bare  arms  and  legs,  giving  orders  to  bis  under-cooks. 

“ Dost  see  that  furmety,  Leolf?  ” said  the  master;  “ I trow 
that  it  be  not  fit  for  a dog  an’  thou  slackenest  not  the  fire 
in  a trice.’  Turning  to  another,  who  was  attending  to  the 
chine  of  beef,  he  exclaimed : 

“ Ho  there,  Hugh  ! shift  that  spit,  you  varlet,  or  I ’ll  lay 
this  besom  upon  thy  back,  and  wallop  thee  well.  I wonder 
if  Job  had  a like  set  of  dumb  hounds  to  deal  with.” 

Just  then  the  fury  of  the  storm  seemed  redoubled,  but 
above  the  din  the  warder’s  horn  gave  a loud,  quick  blast, 
answering  a bugle  at  the  drawbridge. 

“ Dost  hear  the  call  at  the  portcullis?  ” said  Raoul.  “ Be- 
shrew  me ! if  old  Robin  liketh  to  turn  out  in  such  a night. 
Sancta  Maria  have  mercy  on  the  travellers ! ” 

The  company  in  the  ’broiderie  room  are  startled  too  by 
the  long  sharp  call ; and  Sir  Reginald,  throwing  6n  a cloak 
of  heavy  cloth,  and  a fur-lined  cap,  hurried  out  to  meet^the 
travellers. 

The  wind  was  blowing  almost  a hurricane  through  the  lower 
passages,  which,  on  being  opened,  admitted  snow,  and  hail, 
and  sleet,  beating  fiercely  against  the  face. 

“ Bring  lanterns  quickly ! ” said  the  baron  to  a number 
of  serving-men,  who  were  by  this  time  gathered  in  the 
passage. 

By  the  light  of  the  lanterns,  a company  of  troubadcura 
was  soon  revealed  advancing  slowly  over  the  ballium. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


96 


They  were  four,  iu  the  costume  of  those  days,  carrying 
their  instruments  upon  their  backs,  but  drenched  to  the 
skin. 

“Here,  Aulaff!  here,  Leolf!  take  the  harps  from  the  min- 
strels ; they  be  well-nigh  beaten  to  death,  I trow.” 

Leading  them  up  the  great  staircase,  the  weather-beaten 
minstrels  found  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  ladies  of 
the  castle. 

“ The  Holy  Virgin  be  praised ! ” said  the  elder.  “ Cer- 
tes,  we  had  no  thought  of  finding  a shelter  on  this  dark 
night,  for  the  air  seemeth  filled  with  fierce  spirits,  I trow.” 

“Lead  the  travellers  to  thy  room,  Lancelot,”  said  the 
baron.  “ See  that  they  hav  ^ dry  garments,  and  then  meet 
us  at  the  supper-table.” 

Refreshed  by  the  hospitality  ot  the  young  esquire,  they 
joined  the  company  at  the  table,  strongly  impressed  by  the 
change  which  a few  hours  had  made  in  their  condition. 

“ Whence  comest  thou  ? ” said  the  baron,  addressing  the 
elvler  minstrel. 

“ From  Palestine,”  was  the  reply ; “ where  we  have  seen 
the  foul  Paynim  pollute  the  sacred  cross.” 

“ Wert  thou  in  the  holy  city  at  that  time?  ” inquired  the 
baron. 

“We  were  among  the  number  that  joined  the  procession 
as  it  marched  out  of  the  city ; and  a woful  sight  it  was  to 
the  blessed  company  of  shining  saints  that  watched  over  the 
holy  city.  There  were  many  tokens  of  ill  luck,”  continued 
the  speaker;  “birds  of  ill  omen  flying  over  the  holy  city 


96 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


for  ^eveii  days,  and  balls  of  fire  shooting  across  the  heaveni 
at  midnight,  with  many  other  strange  sights  and  sounds.” 

A younger  minstrel  spoke: 

‘‘  I shall  never  forget  the  sad  procession  that  marched 
around  Jerusalem  the  night  before  the  remainder  of  the 
army  set  out  to  join  the  crusaders  at  Sophoris ; the  bells  of 
every  church  in  the  city  thundering  out  the  summons  to  the 
procession.” 

“ You  had  a weak  and  miserable  king,”  said  Sir  Regi- 
nald, for  such  days.” 

“ That  is  true,  forsooth ! and  we  all  felt  the  shame,”  said 
the  elder  minstrel. 

Seated  around  the  hospitable  board,  the  weary  travellers 
mjoyed  the  good  cheer  above  the  salt-cellar.  Burgundy  and 
Dther  wines,  with  mead  and  ale,  sharing  the  favor  of  the  com- 
pany ; below  the  silver  barrier,  blackjack  alone  circulated. 

After  pledging  to  the  health  of  the  ladies,  the  elder 
minstrel  asked  permission  to  retire.  The  grace-cup  was  ac- 
cordingly served  around,  and  the  guests,  after  making  deep 
obeisance  to  the  baron  and  the  ladies  of  the  household, 
were  marshalled  to  their  sleeping  apartments  by  the  steward 
and  cupbearer,  each  attended  by  a torchbearer  and  a ser- 
vant ; a tray  of  refreshments  and  the  midnight-bowl  being 
left  in  the  rooms  of  those  of  noble  birth. 

The  storm  still  raged  without,  but  the  travellers  in  their 
little  rooms  experienced  all  the  comfort  of  a speedy  and 
unexpected  transition  from  a pelting  storm  in  deep  dark- 
ness to  security  and  repose : reciting  seven  pater-nosters,  the 
troubadours  were  soon  asleep. 

The  next  day  we  find  them  in  the  ’broidene  room,  enter* 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


97 


taining  the  ladies  with  their  music, — two  harps  and  two  lutefe 
with  their  rich  voices  making  charming  melody.  As  was  the 
custom,  they  sang  a ballad  ot  those  stirring  days,  relating 
what  had  just  transpired  under  their  own  eyes,  calling  it 

THE  JUDGMENT  OF  GOD. 

A lay,  a lay,  good  pilgrims. 

Which  shall  stir  the  sluggish  blood, 

While  I sing  in  solemn  cadence 
Of  the  judgment  of  our  God 

There  was  a noble  castle 

Near  the  ancient  town  of  Lewec, 

Looking  down  in  stately  grandeur 
On  the  valley  of  the  Ouse. 

There  lived  in  Norman  greatnesw, 

With  daughter  fair  and  bright, 

Sir  Julian  de  Warrenn, 

A good  and  noble  knight. 

The  lovely  Lady  Edith, 

Betrothed  true  was  she 
To  a brave  and  gallant  noble, 

Rainald  de  Hellingley. 

A cousin,  mean  and  craven, — 

Sir  William  was  his  name, — 

Bent  on  his  rival’s  murder, 

, To  slay  the  bridegroom  came. 

Another  joined  the  traitor, 

The  bloody  deed  to  aid,  — 

Sir  Roger  de  Chatillon, 

Half  eager,  haif  afraid. 


^8 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


But  their  malice  was  defeated  ; 

And  the  knight,  though  long  delayed. 
Wedded  the  Lady  Edith; 

And  the  two  were  happy  made. 

Saved  by  the  hand  of  Heaven, 

The  knight  had  made  a vow 
To  take  the  cross  for  two  whole  years : 
What  saith  the  lady  now  ? 

Where  ’er  thou  goest,  my  husband, 

I suffer  all  with  thee ; 

Now  Hea'«^en  forbid  that  aught  but  deall^ 
Should  sever  thee  and  me.” 

******* 

They  are  with  the  bold  crusaders  ; 

Their  foes  are  with  them,  too ; 

Sir  William  and  Sir  Roger, 

To  their  sworn  vengeance  true 

With  lies  and  wicked  perjury, 

They  scanned  the  marriage  laws ; 

And  by  their  diabolic  acts 
Made  theirs  the  better  cause. 

A holy  bishop  was  entrapped. 

To  aid  their  dark  design ; 

A sentence  of  divorce  thus  passed. 

She  to  a cell  consigned. 

* * , * * * * 

Sir  Rainald’s  solemn  protest 
The  deep  felt  silence  broke ; 

And  then  with  eyes  upturned  to  Heavi!«, 
The  Lady  Edith  spoki. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


IP 


**  My  husband  hath  appealed  to  Rom« 

But  I appeal  to  Heaven, 

Where  I summon  you,  lord  bishop  ; 

And  may  you  be  forgiven. 

‘I  summon  yc^  in  sixty  days 
The  righteous  judge  to  meet ; 

And  you,  Sir  William  Montacute/’ 

(Who  rose  upon  his  feet;) 

And  you.  Sir  Roger,  hear  your  doott 
In  sixty  hours,  both  stand 

To  answer  for  this  wickedness 
Wrought  by  your  evil  hand.” 

The  Lady  Edith  to  her  cell 
In  the  convent  of  St.  Ann’s ; 

And  the  sixty  hours  travelled  on, 
Counted  by  Time’s  swift  hands. 

The  sixty  hours  travelled  on : 

Naught  but  dishonored  name 

Is  left ; for  they  are  summoned  henc^ 
So  swift  the  judgment  came. 

The  holy  bishop’s  in  the  field. 

Where  the  great  cause  is  lost ; 

Defending  bravely  to  the  last 
The  consecrated  cross. 

The  holy  .cross  is  trembling  I ” 

Shouted  Sir  Rainald  now  : 

^•To  the  rescue  ” while  the  sweat-dropf 
Stood  on  his  noble  brow. 


UO  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

‘ St.  George  and  merry  England  I 
One  charge  for  God’s  dear  love ! ” 

^ And  the  knights  closed  round  the  bishcf 

As  he  held  the  cross  above. 

“ The  cross’s  weight  in  silver, 

For  the  man  that  seizes  first  1 ** 

From  the  lips  of  the  proud  Paynim 
In  thundering  accents  burst. 

Now,  foot  to  foot  and  breast  to  breast, 
The  bishop  and  his  foe  ' * 

Struggled  together  for  the  cross. 

While  others  struck  the  blow. 

Beat  down  at  last,  full  twenty  hands 
Seized  on  the  holy  cross, 

\ And  twenty  more  despatched  the  soul 
Crushed  by  the  direful  loss. 

The  sixty  days  had  rolled  around  ; 

The  road  of  doom  was  trod : 

The  three  before  the  court  of  Heaven 
Had  answered  to  their  God. 

The  bishop  had  confessed  the  wrong; 

The  lady  had  forgiven, 

And  thought  of  him  as  one  at  rest 
With  the  redeemed  in  heaven. 

But  the  bitter  shame  and  anguish 
Of  the  memory  of  that  day. 

When  the  cross  by  Paynim  monsters 
In  shouts  was  borne  away, 


Wiii  never  be  forgotten, 
Can  never  be  effaced, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


101 


Dntil  the  sacred  symbol 
Stands  in  the  Holy  Place 

Then,  arise ! arise  I good  pilgrims 
Gird  on  your  armor  bright : 

Up  I up ! ye  Christian  legions  1 
Up ! up  I each  valiant  knight . 

Down  with  the  hated  crescent  I 
Up  with  the  sacred  cross  I 
For  this,  we  ’ll  gladly  suffer 
All  grief,  and  shame,  and  loss. 

Maude  listened  to  the  ballad  with  a full  heart ; for  well 
she  knew  that  the  call  of  the  troubadours  was  rousing  the 
spirit  of  chivalry  in  that  old  castle. 

Very  sweet  and  solemn  were  the  hours  spent  now  in  the 
turret  with  her  blessed  book ; for  she  is  learning  daily  its  x 
pure  and  holy  lessons. 

Guy  de  Mowbray  has  traced  her  footsteps  to  her  quiet 
retreat,  and  we  find  him  alone  with  the  young  student  on 
one  of  these  occasions. 

“ What  keepeth  thee,  Maude,  so  much  apart  ? said  the 
young  man. 

“ I will  shew  thee,  Guy,’’  said  the  earnest  reader  of  the 
book.  ‘‘Dost  see  this  blessed  Gospel,  Guy?  Dost  wonder 
that  I should  seek  these  quiet  hours?” 

“ Sayest  thou  that  this  is  truly  the  Gospel  of  our  Lord, 
Maude?” 

“ Written  by  the  holy  St.  John  hjmself,  Guy,  and  changed 
into  our  own  tongue  by  the  venerable  Bede,  a holy  monk 


102 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


that  liveth  at  Durham  more  than  four  hundred  years 
agone.’’ 

“ Thou  art  troubling  thyself  about  what  be  too  hard  for 
thee,  I trow.” 

“ It  is  not  hard,  Guy,  for  one  that  hath  the  key.” 

‘‘What  meanest  thou,  Maude?” 

“ The  key  of  faith,  Guy,  I wish  that  it  were  thine.” 

“ What  learnest  thou,  Maude,  from  the  book  ? ” 

“Much  that  I knew  not  before,  when  I thought  that 
pater-nosters,  and  prayers  to  the  Virgin  and  to  the  holy 
saints,  were  taught  in  the  Gospel.” 

“ What  knowest  thou  better,  Maude?  ” 

“ I learn  that  God  is  a spirit,  and  that  we  must  worship 
him  in  spirit  and  in  truth.” 

“Thinkest  thou  that  Holy  Church  teacheth  us  wrong, 
X Maude?” 

“ I trow  not,  Guy ; but  an’  the  Gospel  is  the  real  word, 
there  seemeth  naught  there  about  such  like  things  as  we 
worship  in  Holy  Church.  We  learn  much  about  forms  and 
fasts  and  penances  in  our  breviary,  but  little  about  Jesus. 
Just  let  me  read  the  words  of  our  dear  Lord  himself:  ‘It 
is  the  Spirit  that  quicken eth  ; the  flesh  profiteth  nothing ; 
the  words  that  I speak  unto  you,  they  are  spirit,  and  they 
are  life:  ’ so  it  seemeth,  Guy,  that  his  words  give  us  life,  and 
not  the  fasts  and  penances  and  sacraments  of  the  Holy 
Church.” 

“Thou  thinkest  deeply,  Maude,  for  one  so  young,  and 
seemest  getting  astray  from  the  teaching  of  our  holy  mother. 
For  myself,  I be  content  that  Father  Jerome  should  point 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


103 


the  way  to  paradise.  Thou  aeemest  to  talk  as  though  the 
Lord  Jesus  were  thine  own  friend,  Maude.” 

“And so  the  Gospel  teacheth.  For  see  how  close  he  came 
to'Lazarus  and  Mary  and  Martha ; how  he  sat  at  their  lable, 
and  slept  in  their  house,  Guy,  and  how  they  talked  with 
him  face  to  face.  And  when  Lazarus  died,  they  knew  just 
who  would  come  to  comfort  them.  And  see  how  the  Gospel 
telleth  us  that  Jesus  wept  with  them,  and  then  raised  Laza- 
rus  from  the  dead.  He  was  very  near  and  precious  to  those 
disciples,  Guy ; and  he  is  just  the  same  now ; and  so  I trow  that 
I may  go  to  him  up  here  in  this  lonely  turret,  and  not  be 
frighted ; for  he  heareth  my  stammering  words,  and  loveth 
me,  Guy,  loveth  Maude  de  Vere ; for  did  he  not  die  for 
me  upon  that  hill  of  Calvary  ? ” 

“Thou  talkest  strangely,  Maude;  but  it  seemeth  all  real. 
And  I trow  that  thou  art  one  of  the  blessed  saints  that  Holy 
Church  putteth  in  her  calendar  when  thou  diest.” 

“ Say  not  so,  Guy ; for  I am  only  a sinner  saved  by 
Jesus.  But  what  thinkest  thou,  Guy,  of  the  call  of  the 
troubadours  ? ” 

“ It  seemeth  that  ere  long  all  Christendom  will  be  on  the 
march  for  Palestine;  and  I tarry  not.” 

“ Wouldst  like  to  be  a soldier  of  the  cross,  Guy  ? ” 

“It  seemeth  a noble  calling,  Maude,  What  thinkest 
thou,  young  demoiselle  ? ” 

“ Go  where  the  Master  calleth  thee,  Guy.  It  hath  ever 
been  thought  a holy  work,  and  I would  not  stay  thy  footsteps. 
Many  a young  maiden  hath  taken  the  cross  in  former  days. 
Perchance  Maude  may  be  one  who  followeth  the  crusaders/ 


104 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


**  Wouldst  be  a pilgrim,  Maude?  ’’  said  the  youth. 

An’  it  is  truly  the  will  of  our  Lord,  Guy,  I follow  the 
march  to  Palestine.  I would  venture  much  to  see  the  holy 
place  where  the  infant  Saviour  lay,  and  to  set  foot  upon  the 
sacred  hill  where  our  dear  Lord  hung  upon  the  cross ; to 
stand  upon  the  mountain  where  ne  bade  farewell  to  the 
holy  apostles,  and  to  kneel  at  the  holy  sepulchre  where  his 
blessed  body  lay.  Sometimes,  Guy,  I dream  about  the  holy 
city,  and  see  the  bright  sun  shining  down  upon  the  mosque 
of  Omar ; and  once  I dreamed  that  a large  gilt  cross  glit- 
tered in  the  sunshine  where  the  crescent  had  stood.  The 
joy  awoke  me,  Guy,  tcrfeel  that  it  was  but  a dream.” 

“ There  will  be  a third  crusade  ere  long,  Maude,  for  the 
world  is  waking  up;  and  the  troubadours  are  on  their  way 
from  castle  to  castle  throughout  England,  France,  and  Ger- 
many, rousing  up  the  knights.” 

‘‘We  have  no  Peter  the  Hermit,  nor  holy  Saint  Bernard 
now,”  said  Maude,  “ to  stir  the  people  to  deeds  of  holy  war- 
fare.” 

“That  is  true;  but  these  troubadours  have  wondrous 
power,  and  their  music  soundeth  like  a trumpet-call  in  the 
ears  of  the  faithful.” 

“Shouldst  thou  fall,  Guy,”  (and  the  dark  eyes  filled  with 
tears,)  “ it  would  be  in  a holy  cause ; and  I should  hope  to 
meet  tl  ee  at  the  gates  of  the  heavenly  city.” 


CHAI>TER  IX 


CRUSADEES  AT  THE  CASTLE< 


SSEMBLED  around  the  table,  the  company  were 


startled  by  the  loud  and  long  sound  of  the  warder’s 
horn  in  answer  to  a bugle’s  call. 

“ Methinketh  that  there  be  some  stir  at  the  drawbridge,” 
said  the  baron ; “ certes,  that  is  a crusader’s  bugle,”  and 
hastening  from  the  table,  followed  by  Lancelot  and  Guy  de 
Mowbray,  he  went  forward  to  meet  his  guests. 

“ A company  of  crusaders  from  the  holy  land,”  said  the 
baron,  as  he  returned  to  the  hall.  “Let  us  bid  them  wel- 
come in  the  name  of  the  Lord.” 

The  company  assembled,  with  the  damsels,  esquires,  and 
pages,  followed  by  the  occupants  of  the  lower  table  at  the 
end  of  the  hall,  hastened  out  to  greet  the  strange  visitors. 

Just  passing  the  inner  ballium  appeared  four  knights, 
arrayed  in  armor  which  glittered  in  the  sunshine,  one  car- 
rying a tattered  banner,  followed  by  a few  men-at-arms, 
all  wearing  the  red  cross.  At  an  humble  distance  marched 
a holy  palmer,  known  by  the  weeds  of  a pilgrim.  A cloak 
of  black  serge  enveloped  his  whole  body,  in  shape  some- 
thing like  the  cloak  of  a modern  hussar,  having  flaps  for 
covering  the  arm^;  coarse  sandals  bound  with  thongs  on 


106 


106 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


nis.  bare  feet ; a broad  and  shadowy  hat,  with  cockle-shells 
stitched  on  its  brim;  and  a long  staif  shod  with  iron,  to  the 
u})per  end  of  which  was  attached  a branch  of  palm,  withered, 
it  is  true,  but  still  sacred  in  the  eyes  of  pilgrims  as  having 
been  plucked  from  the  trees  of  Palestine. 

Father  Ambrose,  bearing  aloft  a cross,  advanced,  as  they 
lalted  at  the  entrance. 

“All  hail!  soldiers  of  the  holy  cross!”  said  the  priest. 

' Blessed  be  ye  in  the  name  of  the  Lord!  What  tidings 
bring  ye  from  Palesiine  ? ” 

“ Jerusalem  hath  fallen.  The  holy  city  is  trodden  under 
the  foot  of  the  Moslem,”  said  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg,  the  eldest 
of  the  knights. 

“We  have  heard  the  evil  tidings,  and  all  Christendom 
sitteth  in  dust  and  ashes ! ” replied  the  priest. 

Chanting  the  miserere,  the  procession  entered  the  castle 
of  Ravenscliff,  the  banner  of  the  crusaders  trailing  in  the 
dust. 

Laying  aside  some  of  their  heavy  armor,  a group  of 
weather-beaten,  sad,  and  worn-out  pilgrims  seated  them- 
selves at  the  board  spread  in  the  banqueting-hall. 

There  were  three  besides  Sir  Bryan : Sir  Amelot  de  Russy, 
Sir  Reginald  d’Evreux,  and  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy,  — four  as 
brave  and  gallant  knights  as  ever  assumed  the  cross. 

After  the  refreshment  of  the  crusaders,  the  family  awaited 
anxiously  to  hear  farther  tidings. 

“ Naught  but  disaster  hath  followed  our  arms,”  said  Sir 
Bryan ; “ albeit  that  our  soldiers  fought  like  brave  men  long 
and  well.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIR  AM. 


107 


All  England  hath  been  aroused  by  the  terrible  news/* 
said  the  baron.  “ After  holding  the  holy  city  eighty-eight 
years,  its  downfall  hath  filled  all  Christendom  with  grief. 
But  what  news  syth  ? ** 

“ Naught  but  rout  and  defeat  to  the  crusaders,**  was  the 
reply. 

The  inhabitants  of  the  castle  now  crowded  around  the 
strangers  with  breathless  interest,  none  more  deeply  stirred 
than  the  Lady  Maude.  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  had  a long 
account  to  give  of  the  humiliation  following  their  defeat ; 
of  the  generosity  shown  by  Saladin  in  some  cases,  and  his 
cruelty  in  other  instances ; but  when  he  told  how  two  hun- 
dred and  thirty  of  the  religious  orders,  rather  than  aposta- 
tize, submitted  to  a cruel  death,  the  baron  struck  his 
clenched  fist  upon  the  table,  and  the  young  esquires  and 
pages  rose  to  their  feet,  crying  out : 

“ Their  massacre  calleth  for  vengeance.  It  is  the  will  of 
God!** 

Maude*s  dark  eyes  flashed  with  unusual  fire,  Eveline*s 
were  suffiised  with  tears,  and  Blanche  de  Lacey’s  cheek  be- 
came still  paler,  while  listening  to  the  recital,  clasping  the 
hand  of  the  Lady  Jaquelire;  but  with  one  accord  the 
women*s  voices  joined  in  thf  sry  of  the  young  soldiers : ‘‘It 
is  the  will  of  God.** 

“ But  there  is  one  picture  of  shame  which  makes  Chris- 
tian blood  boil  with  rage,**  continued  Sir  Bryan.  “It 
wringeth  my  heart  even  now  to  tell  the  story,  — the  great 
mosque  of  St.  Omar,  which  had  been  turned  into  a Chris- 
tian church,  was  consecrated  anew  to  the  worship  of  Islam, 


108 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


its  pavemeiits  and  walls  washed  with  Damascus  rose-water. 
But  listen,  soldiers,  while  you  swear  to  be  avenged  I The 
golden  cross  which  surmounted  the  dome  of  the  Church  of 
the  Holy  Sepulchre  was  taken  down,  and  for  two  days 
dragged  through  the  streets ; Salad  in,  at  the  head  of  a 
triumphant  procession,  glorying  in  the  desecration;  and 
thus  our  holy  places  were  polluted  by  the  infidels  I ” 

It  would  be  a difficult  task  to  attempt  a description  of  the 
indignation  that  filled  every  heart  that  listened  to  this  de- 
grading recital ; but  down  in  the  depths  of  each  there  were 
solemn  vows  that  only  waited  time  and  circumstances  for 
fulfilment. 

“Bring  hither  the  holy  cross.  Father  Ambrose,’’  said  the 
baron;  and,  kissing  it  solemnly,  he  continued  : “By  this  I 
vow  to  take  the  cross,  and  to  join  the  first  army  that  march- 
eth  to  Palestine.  Who  followeth  in  the  train  ? ” 

One  by  one,  esquires  and  pages  solemnly  followed  the  ex- 
ample of  the  baron  and  then  advanced  the  knights,  who 
V'owed  never  to  sheathe  the  sword  until  their  holy  work  was 
done. 

Maude’s  heart  was  deeply  stirred,  and  we  find  her  more 
frequently  in  the  chapel,  at  all  hours,  devoutly  sending  up 
prayers  to  heaven  for  the  success  of  the  crusaders.  The 
Baron  of  RavenscliflT,  with  princely  generosity,  provided  the 
knights  with  what  they  needt  d,  prevailing  upon  them  to 
tarry  at  the  castle  a few  days  to  recruit  their  wasted  strength 
ere  they  sought  their  homes. 

The  day  for  the  birthday  banquet  dawns  brightly,  and 
the  young  demoiselles  are  in  the  hands  of  their  bower- women, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


109 


each  resolved  that  her  lady  shall  be  the  lo/eliest.  Fresh 
rushes  are  spread  in  the  banqueting-hall,  and  rosemary  and 
flowers  are  disposed  around  in  abundance,  while  over  the 
upper  dais  is  spread  the  banner  of  England,  and  on  which 
is  spread  a piece  of  carpet.  Here  we  find  the  family  of  the 
baron,  the  knights,  the  ladies,  and  the  priest ; next  in  rank 
come  the  troubadours,  esquires,  and  pages,  and  at  the  lower 
table,  the  servants  of  the  household.  The  ladies,  in  their 
superb  dresses,  with  their  sweeping  trains  and  glittering 
jewels,  presented  an  appearance  of  exceeding  loveliness,  as 
they  entered  the  hall,  greeted  by  inspiring  music;  the 
knights,  esquires,  and  pages  rising,  and  standing  until  the 
fair  procession  was  seated. 

But  the  Prioress  of  St.  Agnes  must  be  noticed  here; 
for  in  these  palmy  days  heads  of  convents  were  found  at 
all  manner  of  festivities.  We  could  scarcely  have  recog- 
nized the  richly-dressed  lady  as  the  head  of  an  estab- 
lishment whose  vow  renounces  the  gayeties  of  the  world. 
She  wore,  indeed,  the  costume  of  her  order,  with  regard 
to  color  and  shape ; but  her  robe,  instead  of  coarse  serge, 
was  of  black  velvet ; her  frontlet  and  barb  elaborately  em- 
broidered ; her  long  gloves  of  white  Spanish  leather,  deli- 
cately perfumed,  and  wrought  with  needle-work  of  colored 
silks ; her  fingers  were  loaded 'with  rings  ; and  from  her  gir- 
dle, set  with  the  finest  gems,  were  suspended  a pomander  of 
gold  and  enamel,  a silver  seal,  and  a rosary  of  amethyst 
beads,  holding  a crucifix  made  of  alabaster  and  gold.  This 
description  may  perhaps  be  deemed  overwrought,  but  it  is 
copied  from  an  ancient  book,  which  gives  an  account  of  the 
10 


110 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


extravagance  of  prioresses  in  mediseval  days.  Maude  some* 
times  wondered,  when  she  looked  at  her  stately  aunt,  what 
her  vow  of  renunciation  meant.  But  she  is  here  at  the 
birthday  banquet,  among  the  troubadours  and  knights,  one 
of  the  most  exalted  and  engrossed  of  that  array  of  noble 
ladies. 

There  were  many  dishes  unknown  to  us  of  modern  days, — 
almost  every  green  thing  that  grew  in  the  garden  was  eaten, 
rose-leaves  not  excepted ; salt  was  despised,  sugar  very  ex- 
pensive, and  honey  used  instead ; pepper,  and  cloves,  and 
mustard  used  in  large  quantities,  and  wine  flowed  abun- 
dantly ; but  it  is  quite  beyond  the  power  of  a modern  pen 
to  describe  the  various  little  dishes  that  graced  the  table. 

It  was  a cheerful  banquet,  and  the  returned  knights,  with 
anecdotes  of  foreign  manners  and  customs,  did  much  to  en- 
liven the  occasion. 

At  the  close  of  the  feast.  Sir  Bryan  courteously  proposed 
a toast  to  the  young  demoiselles  of  the  castle,  which  was 
drunk,  all  standing. 

“We  pledge  our  devoirs  to  the  Ladies  Maude  and  Eveline 
de  Vere,”  said  the  knight,  “ twin  queens  of  love  and  beauty.” 

After  the  tables  were  cleared,  the  minstrel  of  the  castle 
entertained  the  company  with  some  Proven 9a!  music ; and  at 
the  last,  the  baron  whispered  a word  to  Maude,  who,  seating 
herself  at  the  harp,  held  the  whole  company  enchained  by 
her  own  inspiring  air,  which  had  so  delighted  her  father. 
After  tlie  singing  of  several  verses,  the  whole  company, 
catching  the  inspiration,  joined  in  the  chorus,  standing : 

“ Our  Lady  calls.  To  arms  ! to  arms  1 ” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Ill 


The  great  hall  resounded  with  the  ringing  calls,  — the 
crusaders,  with  their  right  hands  raised  tc  heaven,  and  their 
eyes  turned  upward,  while  the  baron  waved  the  flag  of  Eng- 
land ; and,  at  the  close,  all  joined  in  the  crusaders’  cry ; 

“ Down  with  the  Moslem ! It  is  the  will  of  God  I St. 
George  for  merry  England  ! ” 

When  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  heard  that  the  Lady  Maude 
was  the  author  of  the  air,  he  bowed  over  her  hand  with 
knightly  reverence,  saying : 

“Thou  shouldst  be  canonized,  fair  lady,  as  one  of  our 
tutelar  saints;  for,  by  St.  George!  no  troubadour  hath 
equalled  thy  lay,  I trow.” 

Then  followed  a stirring  call  by  the  troubadours;  for, 
travelling  from  castle  to  castle,  it  was  their  thrilling  poetry 
that  roused  the  spirit  of  the  third  crusade.  The  flrst  had 
been  the  effect  of  a general  enthusiasm,  the  second  of  indi- 
vidual eloquence,  but  the  third  of  poetry,  — the  flrst  being 
brought  about  by  the  clergy  alone ; but  this  was  the  work 
of  the  troubadours. 

The  rich,  manly  voices  of  the  minstrels,  accompanied  by 
their  harps,  gave  a power  of  expression  to  the  call  that 
follows . 

Wake,  drowsy  knight,  the  trumpet  calls  I 
It  calls  thee  once,  it  calls  thee  thrice  ; 

An’  that  thou  doze  ^by  life  away, 

Thou  ne’er  canst  reach  sweet  paradise. 

Up,  craven  knight!  Away!  away! 

Hear’st  thou  the  call  repeated  thrice? 

An’  that  thou  hidest  from  the  strife, 

Thou  ne’er  wilt  enter  paradise. 


112 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


Up,  men-at-arms!  The  world  awakes. 

Doth  not  the  trumpet-call  suffice? 

Follow  the  crowd  that  marcheth  on 
The  path  that  leads  to  paradise. 

The  trumpet  calls.  The  banners  point 
, To  sacred  Palestine’s  bright  skies; 

Raise  high  the  cross,  and  follow  on 
The  crowds  that  march  to  paradise, 

Fair  lady,  bind  the  helmet  on, 

And  bid  thy  lover  quick  arise; 

Go  bid  him  take  the  battle-axe, 

To  cleave  his  path  to  paradise. 

Forsake  the  world ; bind  on  the  cross ; 

Join  the  crusader’s  battle-cries: 

. “ For  merry  England  and  St.  George  I ** 

With  this  march  on  to  paradise. 

List  to  the  shout  that  fills  the  air! 

“It  is  the  will  of  God!”  he  cries; 

With  this  the  soldier  of  the  cross 
Enters  the  gates  of  paradise. 

A day  or  two  longer  brought  the  stay  of  the  crusaders  to 
an  end,  and  we  find  them  about  to  take  their  departure. 

‘•Canst  count  upon  thine  aid?”  said  Sir  Bryan  to  the 
baron,  “ shouldst  another  army  march  to  Palestine  ? ” 

“ Truly  as  the  sun  shineth  in  the  heavens,”  was  the  reply  ; 
‘and  England’s  king  already  chafeth  under  the  defeats  of 
ihe  crusaders.  When  King  Richard  marcheth,  the  Lord 
if  Ravensclifif  followeth.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


113 


Heading  the  procession  that  left  the  castle,  the  friar  bore 
the  cross  aloft ; the  whole  retinue  following,  chanting  the 
miserere. 

After  the  departure  of  the  crusaders,  we  find  Maude  and 
Guy  walking  with  slow  and  measured  steps  along  the  shaded 
walk  in  the  pleasance. 

‘‘  The  happy,  quiet  days  draw  to  an  end,  Guy,”  said  the 
young  demoiselle;  ‘‘for  no  true  Christian  tarrieth  at  home 
while  the  holy  land  continueth  in  the  hands  of  infidels.” 

“ It  seemeth  so,  Maude ; for  when  England  stirreth  her- 
self in  earnest,  there  lacketh  not  thousands  of  brave  hearts 
to  spring  to  arms.  Thine  own  song  calleth  us,  Maude.” 

“ Methinketh,  Guy,  that  there  soundeth  not  a summons 
to  loftier  deeds  than  calleth  all  true  knights  to  Palestine. 
I could  gird  on  thy  sword  with  mine  own  hands,  and  bid 
thee  strike  for  the  redemption  of  the  holy  sepulchre.” 

Guy  drew  nearer  to  the  young  enthusiast,  and  whispered 
in  low  tones : 

“Soon  I leave  thee,  sweet  one,  and  return  to  Hawks- 
worth  ; but  in  these  uncertain  times  I go  not  without  the 
dear  assurance  of  thy  love.  Not  a sister’s,  Maude ; I seek 
a dearer,  holier  tie.  Dost  love  me,  Maude?  Wouldst  joxn 
thy  lot  with  mine?  in  the  bright  sunshine  or  in  the  days  of 
darkness  and  sorrow  ? ” 

Maude  raised  her  pure  saintly  face  to  Guy’s,  and,  placing 
her  hand  within  his  own,  answered,  in  a voice  tremulous 
with  deep  feeling : 

“ Thine  own,  Guy.  I have  always  loved  thee  with  a pure 
and  holy  affection,  and  now,  before  Heaven,  I give  thee  my 
10*  H 


114 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


plighted  troth,  to  love  thee  with  mj" whole  heart.  But  still 
I bid  thee  go  on  the  holy  errand  that  stirreth  up  all 
Christendom;  and  may  the  Master  that  we  love  defend 
thee,  Guy,  and  bring  thee  back  fo  thy  native  land  and  to 

me.” 

“ And  then,  Maude,  when  our  holy  work  is  done,  I come 
to  claim  thee,  sweet  one,  for  mine  own ; and  thou  wilt  be  my 
tutelar  saint,  I trow.” 

Maude’s  countenance  fell,  as  she  replied  sadly  . 

“We  know  not,  Guy,  what  lieth  in  our  future  path;  for 
thy  father,  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth,  welcometh  none  of 
the  hated  race  of  De  Vere  to  his  castle.” 

“We  hope  for  a better  end  of  our  betrothal,  sweet  one; 
«n’  thou  be  true  to  thy  plighted  troth,  Maude,  I fear  naught 
else.” 

“ Thou  hast  my  word,  Guy ; and  thou  mayest  be  sure  that 
naught  but  death  parteth  thee  and  me.  But  still  I bid  thee 
go,  beloved ; go  to  redeem  the  holy  places  from  the  pollu- 
tion of  infidels ; and  when  the  rising  sun  calleth  us  to  matins, 
and  his  departing  beams  cast  their  shadows  upon  the  hour 
of  even-song,  thou  mayest  know  that  Maude  prayeth  for  thee 
in  the  chapel  of  Bavensclilf  or  in  the  quiet  turret.” 

There  was  a look  of  lofty  feeling  in  the  fair  face,  but  tears 
in  the  dark  eyes,  as  the  young  maiden  uttered  those  tender, 
yet  heroic  words;  and  passing  his  arm  around  the  Lady 
Maude,  Guy  replied,  in  a voice  full  of  feeling,  “ Heaven 
bless  thee,  Maude,  forever  and  aye  I ” 

Maude  had  no  concealments  from  the  Lady  Jaqueline, 
therefore  we  find  her  seeking  her  after  this  interview  with 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


115 


Gxiy.  She  told  her  simple  story ; and  the  mother,  smiling, 
replied : 

‘‘  It  scarcely  seemeth  like  unto  surprising  news,  Maude, 
for  thy  father  and  I have  looked  for  it  to  come  to  this  syth 
the  days  of  childhood ; and  thou  couldst  not  have  chosen 
a braver  hand,  or  a nobler,  warmer  heart  to  guide  thee, 
daughter  mine,  I trow,  than  beateth  in  the  bosom  of  Guy 
de  Mowbray/’ 

With  these  words,  the  mother  pressed  a kiss  upon  the 
cheek  of  the  young  maiden. 

Guy  likewise  sought  the  baron,  who  gave  his  hearty  ap- 
proval, but  with  the  caution : 

“This  be  a union  long  delayed,  Guy,  an’  thou  tarriest 
for  thy  father’s  sanction.” 

The  pleasant  season  is  at  an  end,  for  the  De  Mowbrays 
had  stayed  far  beyond  the  time  allotted,  and  now  they  must 
part.  Brave  as  Maude  had  been  in  the  expression  of  heroic 
sentiments,  her  woman’s  heart  sank  within  her  as  she  caught 
the  last  glimpse  of  the  plume  waving  in  the  cap  of  Guy  de 
Mowbray  passing  out  of  the  gate  that  led  to  the  drawbridge, 
and  in  the  quiet  of  her  little  turret  we  find  her  committing 
the  three,  from  whom  she  had  ju«t  parted,  to  the  care  of  hei 
newly  found  Saviour, 


CHAPTEK  X. 


MAUDE  IN  THE  DAY  DAWxi. 

AIT  AUDE  is  still  a faithful  visitor  to  her  little  turret ; and 
now  the  spring  is  dawning,  for  it  is  the  bright  month 
of  April  in  merry  Angoland. 

It  is  an  inspiring  picture  which  Maude  studies,  leaning 
thoughtfully  on  the  sill  of  her  open  casement ; for  she  has 
from  this  height  a commanding  view  of  the  country  for 
miles  around,  as  well  as  the  pleasance  within  the  ballium 
around  the  castle. 

In  the  green  fields  beyond  the  castle,  the.  children  of  the 
peasants  are  rushing  about  in  their  giddy  joy,  chasing  each 
other  like  gay  butterflies ; some  lying  on  their  backs  tossing 
up  the  sweet  clover  over  their  heads ; and  some  more  quiet, 
seated  under  the  shade  of  branching  trees,  are  making 
wreaths  of  daisies;  and  infant  toddlers  are  filling  their 
homely  aprons  with  flowers, — a charming  picture,  exhibiting 
the  unstudied  grace  of  childhood.  An  old  man  is  pacing 
slowly  along  on  the  shady  side  of  the  field:  he  is  leaning 
on  his  cane,  but  stops  now  and  then  to  look  at  the  sports  of 
the  light-hearted  children.  It  is  with  a sad  and  tender  smile 
that  he  watches  the  merry  groups,  for  the  old  man  is  think- 
ing of  the  pale  faces  beneath  the  green  sod  that  were  once  aa 
merry  as  tliese. 

lie 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


117 


Cuckoo  ! cuckoo  ! ah  ! well  he  knows  that  note,  and  taking 
off  his  hat,  that  hinders  his  vision,  he  looks  up  among  the 
green  foliage,  as  he  did  when  a boy,  for  the  welcome  har- 
binger of  spring ; but  his  eves  are  dim  and  misty  now,  and 
he  sees  not  the  bird.  Jtle  hears  the  song  of  other  familiar 
birds,  and  he  thinks  of  those  who  listened  to  the  same  song 
in  the  spring-time  of  by-gone  days,  and  link  by  link  he  is 
unwinding  the  chain  which  reaches  from  the  grave  to 
heaven : he  is  seated  now  under  the  old  oak,  leaning  on  his 
cane,  wiping  now  and  then  a large  tear  that  steals  over  his 
withered  face ; rising  slowly,  he  takes  the  hand  of  his  chubby- 
cheeked  grandchild,  who  is  always  ready  to  leave  her  sports 
for  grandfather’s  bidding. 

The  trees  are  clad  now  in  the  fresh  tints  of  the  spring 
foliage,  and  one  of  the  most  beautiful  trees  now  in  blossom 
is  the  almond-tree,  which  stands  in  the  pleasance  covered 
with  a bloom  of  lovely  pink,  that,  at  this  distance,  looks 
like  one  great  flower.  The  bright  blue  of  an  April  sky  is 
so  charming  too,  for  if  occasionally  a slight  veil  of  a gentle 
shower  dims  its  beauty,  it  is  only  to  shine  again  like  a gay 
coquette  through  most  of  the  spring  days. 

, Crowds  of  birds  have  returned  now  to  their  nests,  some 
in  the  hollows  of  old  woods  among  the  bushes  that  dot  the 
heaths,  and  some  amid  the  hawthorn  bloom  ; for  there  builds 
the  pretty  May -bird.  The  whole  .land  is  musical,  the  woods 
like  one  great  cathedral  of  praise. 

There  is  an  old  wall-flower  just  outside  of  Maude’s  case- 
ment, and  here  a red  stork  has  built  her  nest  for  several 


118 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


succeeding  seasons.  Perched  sometimes  on  the  sill  of  the 
turret,  the  mate  continues  his  song  from  early  morn,  shaking 
his  tail  all  the  time  with  a tremulous  motion,  while  the 
female  is  sitting  anxiously  upon  her  nest. 

The  sweet  spring  flowers  are  everywhere,  cowslips  and 
daisies  by  the  roadside,  blue-bells  and  lilies  of  the  valley, 
and  sweet  violets  on  the  shady  hills,  yielding  their  sweet 
perfume  to  passers-by ; and  this  is  the  picture  seen  from  the 
casement  of  the  lonely  turret,  this  the  sweet  face  of  nature: 
but  Maude  has  a deeper  study  in  the  volume  on  the  little 
table.  She  is  reading  to-day  some  of  our  Lord’s  most  re- 
markable words : 

“ Verily,  verily,  I say  unto  you.  Except  ye  eat  the  flesh 
of  the  Son  of  man,  and  drink  his  blood,  ye  have  no  life  in 
you. 

**  Whoso  eateth  my  flesh,  and  drinketh  my  blood,  hath 
eternal  life ; and  I will  raise  him  up  at  the  last  day. 

“For  my  flesh  is  meat  indeed,  and  my  blood  is  drink 
indeed.” 

Maude  read  on  six  or  seven  verses  farther,  bewildered  by 
the  early  teaching  of  the  Eomish  Church ; for,  from  the  dawn 
of  reason,  she  had  been  accustomed  to  worship  the  host  in 
the  sacrifice  of  the  Mass ; but  a mind  even  partially  enlight- 
ened by  the  Spirit  of  God  could  not  embrace  the  doctrine 
with  intelligent  faith. 

Maude  remembered  that  Jesus  said  elsewhere,  “ I am  the 
door,”  and  again,  “ I am  the  vine ; ” and  turning  to  the  pass- 
age in  the  same  chapter,  she  read  again  the  blessed  words 
which  had  so  often  relieved  her  perplexities. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


119 


**  It  is  the  spirit  that  quickeneth ; the  words  that  I speak 
unto  you,  they  are  spirit,  and  they  are  life.”  “ Truly  this  is 
the  bread  of  life,  dear  Saviour ; on  thee  feed  I in  my  heart 
by  a living  faith,”  whispered  Maude,  in  her  retirement. 

There  is  a knock  at  the  turret-door,  and  good  old  Cicely 
stands  there  with  a tray  of  refreshments ; for  Maude  has  been 
longer  than  usual  absent  from  the  Lady  Jaqueline. 

“ What  keepeth  thee  apart  from  the  young  demoiselles. 
Lady  Maude  ? ” said  the  old  servant ; “ they  are  in  the  ’broid- 
erie  room,  and  the  gay  troubadours  sing  brave  songs  for 
them  while  thou  tarriest  here  in  this  old  turret.” 

“ Wouldst  like  to  know  my  company.  Cicely?”  said  the 
young  maiden,  as  she  pointed  to  the  book  lying  on  her  table. 
“ This  be  the  blessed  Gospel  of  St.  John,  Cicely ; and  I be 
writing  the  third  copy.  I wish  that  thou  mightest  read  the 
holy  book.” 

“ Be  this  thy  wonderful  work.  Lady  Maude  ? Why  writest 
thou  three  ? ” 

“It  seemeth  such  a gift.  Cicely,  that  I would  that  all 
might  read  the  good  news.” 

“ The  priest  telleth  all  that  we  need,  I trow ; and  the 
Blessed  Virgin  leadeth  us  straight  to  paradise  an’  we  say 
our  pater-nosters  and  obey  Holy  Church.” 

Cicely  turned  to  leave  the  room,  and  was  soon  followed 
\)f  the  Prioress  of  St.  Agnes,  now  on  a visit  to  Kavenscliff. 

“ Strange  tidings  I hear,  Maude,  about  thy  work  here  in 
this  lonely  room.  What  doest  thou  with  the  holy  Gospel, 
child?” 

“ Father  Ambrose  lendeth  me  his  copy ; and  I have  learned 


120 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


every  word  of  it,  holy  mother,  and  can  show  thee  nearly 
three  copies  written  by  mine  own  hand.” 

“That  is  not  the  work  for  a young  demoiselle:  hie  thee 
to  Father  Ambrose  ; he  hath  learning  enough  to  lead  souls 
home  to  paradise.  The  Holy  Church  willeth  not  that  her 
children  know  the  Gospel  for  themselves.” 

“ But,  holy  mother,  I have  learned  blessed  lessons  up  here, 
away  from  the  noise  below ; for  Jesus  our  Lord  hath  come 
nigh  to  open  mine  eyes.” 

“ What  learnest  thou,  Maude  ? ” 

“ That  we  eat  not  our  Lord’s  body  in  the  service  of  the 
Mass,  for  he  declareth  himself  that  his  words  are  spirit, 
and  they  are  life.” 

“ This  be  heresy,  Maude,”  said  the  prioress,  with  a dark 
frown;  “just  such  like  as  sixty-four  years  ago  broke  out 
among  a pestilential  set  at  Orleans,  in  France ; and  the  Holy 
Church,  to  protect  herself  from  the  poison,  had  to  rid  the 
world  of  such  heretics.” 

Maude  looked  her  horror,  for  she  had  never  heard  of  the 
old  Vaudois. 

“ Can  it  be  that  the  Church  of  our  dear  Lord  could  put 
any  one  to  death  for  reading  his  blessed  Gospel  ? Why,  the 
whole  Gospel  of  St.  John  be  naught  but  a letter  full  of  the 
love  of  our  dear  Lord : how  then  cometh  punishment  and 
death  from  the  Church  that  he  left  ? ” 

“ Passing  ages  call  for  divers  ways  of  ruling ; and  when 
enemies  to  the  true  faith  appear,  it  become th  the  duty  of  the 
Clinch  to  cut  off  such  offenders.” 

A lump  of  lead  sank  down  into  the  heart  of  Maude  de  Vere, 


MACJDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


121 


for  no  sophistry  could  blind  her  now  to  the  wickedness  of 
such  deeds. 

‘‘  Father  Ambrose  is  a weak  and  foolish  priest/’  continued 
the  prioress;  ‘‘he  hath  only  disturbed  thy  faith,  Maude,  by 
his  indulgence.  Thou  hadst  better  give  up  the  Gospel,  and 
go  back  to  the  good  old  paths  of  submission  to  Holy  Church.’’ 

Maude  smiled. 

“ That  can  never  be,  holy  mother,  for  every  word  of  the 
Gospel  be  hidden  here,  down  in  the  depths  of  my  heart ; an’ 
shouldst  thou  take  away  my  books,  thou  canst  never  take 
the  words  out  of  my  mind.” 

Maude  was  careful  as  ever  in  attending  upon  the  services 
of  the  chapel,  but  the  Lord  saw  that  the  worship  of  the 
heart  was  addressed  no  more  to  the  Holy  Virgin  or  the 
blessed  saints,  but  to  Jesus  only,  as  the  great  Mediator  be- 
tween God  and  man. 

The  postures  in  the  Komish  service  were  still  observed, 
but  the  reverence  was  paid  to  Jesus,  and  not  to  fallible 
saints,  or  a human  mediatrix. 

“ Thou  hast  done  a foolish  thing,  Father  Ambrose,”  said 
the  prioress,  seeking  him  in  the  sacristy. 

“What  meanest  thou,  holy  mother?”  was  the  monk’s 
reply. 

“ Thou  hast  furnished  Maude  with  the  Gospel  in  our  own 
tongue ; and  here  we  find  her  questioning  the  doctrines  of 
the  Holy  Church.” 

“ I trow  that  it  harmeth  her  not,  good  mother,  for  she  ii 
a wise  and  holy  child  of  the  true  Church. 

11 


122 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“She  talketh  like  the  old  Vaudois,  father;  and  thou 
deniest  not  their  heresy.” 

“She  hath  never  heard  of  such  deniers  of  the  faith.  But 
I will  talk  with  her;  an’  I find  her  infected,  I take  away  the 
Gospel.” 

“ Thou  canst  not,  foolish  priest,  for  she  hath  hidden  every 
word  down  in  her  heart.” 

Father  Ambrose  has  summoned  the  young  inquirer  to  an 
audience  in  the  sacristy. 

“ I sent  for  thee,  my  daughter,  to  ask  an’  it  be  true  that 
thou  deniest  the  real  presence  of  the  Lord  in  the  Holy  Eu- 
charist ? ” 

Maude  replied,  meekly : 

“ The  book  teacheth  me  that  the  words  of  Christ  giveth 
spiritual  life,  and  that  maketh  a great  diflPerence  in  the  un- 
derstanding of  the  words  coming  before.  So  I read,  father, 
that  when  our  Lord  saith : ‘ I am  the  bread  of  life,’  and  that 
we  eat  his  flesh,  and  drink  his  blood,  it  meaneth  no  more 
that  we  really  eat  the  body  in  which  he  dwelleth  when  here 
below  than  that  he  be  truly  ‘ a door  ’ or  ‘ a vine.’  ” 

“ The  Church  teacheth  not  so  Maude.  Dost  pray  to  the 
Holy  Virgin  and  the  saints  ? ” 

“ I have  looked  all  through  the  book  for  such  like  prayers, 
hut  I find  none;  and  methinketh  that  the  Holy  Mother 
liketh  not  the  worship  of  her  Son  to  be  paid  to  herself : but 
I love  the  Holy  Virgin  and  the  blessed  saints,  father,  and 
^hope  to  meet  them  at  the  gates  of  the  holy  city,  and  to 
dwell  in  the  same  paradise  with  them,  though  at  a great 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


123 


distance  from  the  heights  of  holiness  which  they  hAT6 
reached.”  i 

“ Dost  strive  to  do  good  works,  Maude,  such  as  frequent 
prayer,  fasting,  alms  deeds,  confession,  and  the  sacrifice  of 
the  Mass  ? ” 

“ I read  in  the  book  that  Jesus  hath  done  the  work  of 
our  salvation,  and  that  by  faith  in  him  only  we  have  peace 
with  God.  I know  it,  holy  father,  — the  peace  of  God 
that  passeth  all  understanding ; but  then  I love  to  pray,  to 
fast,  to  confess  my  sins,  and  to  give  alms,  because  Jesus 
commandeth  it,  and  not  because  it  purchaseth  an  entrance 
into  paradise.” 

“I  fear,  Maude,  that  thou  be  departing  from  the  doctrine 
of  Holy  Church.” 

‘‘  It  seemeth  not  so  to  me.  Father  Ambrose ; for  the  holy 
apostles  that  lived  near  our  Lord  knew  more  of  the  true 
doctrine  than  any  since  that  day;  and  the  holy  Apostle  John 
was  one  that  Jesus  loved,  and  I have  learned  from  him  the 
Gospel.” 

“ Wouldst  give  up  the  book,  Maude?” 

^ “ There  it  is,  father.  Thou  hast  thine  own ; but  I have 

hidden  every  word  of  it  deep  in  my  heart  of  hearts.” 

Dost  reverence  the  Holy  Father  the  Pope,  Maude  ? ” 

I honor  him  as  the  head  of  the  Holy  Catholic  Church, 
father,  and  pray  daily  for  him  and  all  the  holy  fathers.” 

“ He  needeth  not  thy  prayers,  Maude ; for,  as  the  vice- 
gerent of  Christ  upon  earth,  in  him  are  stored  up  all  the 
treasures  of  grace.” 


124 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


‘‘  But,  father,  he  is  but  mortal,  and  liable  to  err,  sa  did 
the  Apostle  Peter.” 

Thou  utterest  heresy,  Maude.  The  Holy  Father,  the 
Pope,  cannot  err ; for  in  him  dwelleth  the  Holy  Spirit,  and 
he  is  the  dispenser  of  the  blessed  gift.” 

But  the  book  telleth  me,  father,  that  when  our  Lord 
comforteth  his  disciples,  he  saith  : ‘ Whatsoever  ye  shall  ask 
the  Father  in  my  name,  he  will  give  it  you ; ’ and  in  his  last 
prayer,  he  telleth  to  whom  these  words  belong ; ‘ for  them 
also  which  shall  believe  on  me  through  their  word,^  — the 
word  of  the  apostles  and  all  the  holy  preachers  of  the  true 
gospel,  down  through  the  centuries,  father,  until  they  come 
to  us,  to  humble  Maude  de  Vere.” 

The  priest  looked  upon  the  glowing  face  and  the  clasped 
hands  of  the  youthful  speaker,  and,  realizing  how  deep  a 
hold  the  faith  of  the  Vaudois  had  taken  upon  his  favorite 
pupil,  he  said : 

“I  may  have  greatly  erred  in  lending  thee  the  book, 
Maude;  but  be  careful  to  observe  all  the  rules  of  Holy 
Church,  for  in  her  bosom  only  is  salvation.” 

Centuries  ahead  of  the  dwellers  in  this  mediaeval  castle, 
we  find  Maude  in  her  simple  faith  ; for  contact  with  the  word 
of  Christ  had  wrought  in  her  the  same  moral  change  as 
among  the  Vaudois  in  the  valleys  of  Piedmont. 

The  Prioress  of  St.  Agnes  had  left  an  invitation  to  a cere- 
mony about  to  be  celebrated  at  the  convent,  where  several 
of  the  companions  of  the  young  ladies  were  soon  to  take 
the  veil. 

Accordingly,  we  find  Wilfred  in  the  stable,  examining  the 


125 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM.^ 

palfrey  destined  for  tfte  Lady  Maude;  for  her  own  jennet 
was  under  the  care  of  the  farrier,  and  she  would,  therefore, 
be  obliged  to  ride  a strange  animal. 

“Art  certain  that  the  beast  be  safe,  Hugh?^’  inquired 
the  page. 

“ He  hath  never  harmed  his  rider,’'  was  the  reply ; only 
a trifle  mettlesome,  forsooth.” 

“Thou  rememberest,  Hugh,  that  he  beareth  the  Lady 
Maude,”  replied  the  page,  as  he  turned  away. 

“Thou  needest  not  raise  thine  eyes  so  high,  bold  page,” 
said  the  hostler,  when  Wilfred  was  fairly  out  of  hearing ; 
“ for  a crow  matcheth  not  with  a proud  merlin,  1 trow.” 

The  gay  cavalcade  started  off  in  high  spirits,  and  for  a 
few  miles  all  went  gallantly  along,  Maude’s  })alfrey  can- 
tering on  apparently  gentle  as  the  rest ; but  Wilfred  remem- 
bered the  gleam  in  his  eye,  and  kept  a close  watch  upon  his 
movements.  Suddenly  a large  "flock  of  sheep  appeared  in 
sight,  driven  by  two  men  on  horseback.  Having  reached  a 
cross-road,  the  leader  led  the  way  oflT  in  that  direction.  The 
cries  of  the  driver,  the  loud  baaing  of  a large  flock  of  fright- 
ened sheep,  the  galloping  to  and  fro  across  the  path  of  the 
cavalcade,  alarmed  Maude’s  palfrey,  who  began  to  rear 
and  plunge  violently.  Wilfred  was  quickly  at  her  side,  en- 
couraging her  eflbrts  to  keep  her  seat ; but  in  spite  of  all  her 
horsemanship,  the  animal  stood  almost  upright,  throwing 
Maude  backward.  Wilfred,  perceiving  her  danger,  hastily 
threw  the  reins  of  his  own  horse  into  the  hands  of  a man-at- 
arms,  and  springing  to  the  ground,  at  the  next  furious 
plunge  downward,  headed  the  frightened  animal,  and  suc- 
11* 


126 


UAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


ceeded  in  obtaining  the  bridle,  the  horse's  feet,  however, 
coming  down  upon  his  head.  Prostrate  on  the  ground, 
and  keeping  his  hold  upon  the  bridle,  he  called  out  to  the 
maiden : 

“Keep  thy  seat,  for  the  Holy  Virgin’s  sake.  Lady 
Maude.” 

All  was  the  work  of  a minute ; for  in  an  instant  Lancelot 
had  received  the  Lady  Maude,  as  she  fell,  in  his  arms.  One 
of  the  men-at-arms  had  dragged  Wilfred  from  under  the 
horse’s  hoofs,  and  two  others  sucoeeded  in  obtaining  control 
of  the  animal. 

Wilfred  was  severely  injured,  having  a gash  in  the  right 
cheek,  and  another  on  the  side  of  the  head,  from  which  the 
blood  flowed  profusely.  Maude  wa?  only  frightened  and 
bruised ; but,  in  a fainting  condition,  both  were  carried  to 
the  nearest  house  on  the  roadside.  Maude  ^oon  recovered 
suflSciently  to  administer  to  the  relief  cf  her  preserver. 
Calling  for  sponge  and  water,  we  And  her  rtaunching  the 
blood,  and  with  her  own  gentle  hand  carefvdly  stitching 
the  gashes,  which  were  deep,  and,  obtaining  scmt  adhesive 
matter,  she  finished  her  work  with  the  skill  of  a ^Jirgeoii. 

When  the  operation  was  completed,  Wilfred  raised  his 
grateful  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  young  damsel,  and  p"TS«.iir 
his  pale  lips  upon  her  hand,  he  whispered ; 

“ It  were  worth  the  pain  to  have  such  gentle  surgery 
thine,  fair  lady.” 

“ How  can  I thank  thee,  good  Wilfred  ? for,  at  the  risi 
of  thine  own,  thou  hast  preserved  my  life.  I shall  remem 
her  the  debt,  good  friend,” 


M ^ IT  T>  E AND  MTU  1 A U, 


127 


Not  as  I remember  thee,  fair  lady.” 

Finding  that  the  two  were  not  dangerously  injured,  the 
remainder  of  the  party  resumed  their  journey ; but  a litter 
was  sent  for,  to  conduct  Maude  and  Wilfred  back  to  the 
castle. 

Fever  followed  in  Wilfred’s  case,  and  for  several  days 
Maude  was  by  his  side,  reading  the  Gospel  and  ministering 
to  his  wants.  Dangerous  intercourse  for  the  page,  — drink- 
ing in  not  only  the  teachings  of  St.  John,  but  the  sweet  mur- 
murs of  a gentle  woman’s  '^oice.  avakening  dreams  never 
to  be  realized 


CHAPTER  XI. 


ROYAL  VISITORS. 

0 AVENSCLIFF  is  all  astir ; for  a messenger  has  just 

arrived  from  court  to  announce  a visit  from  King 
Richard  and  the  queen-mother. 

“ The  king  proclaimeth  a tournament  to  be  held  near  the 
castle/’  said  the  herald ; ‘‘  and  I trow  that  none  such  hath 
been  seen  for  many  a year  agone.” 

“ Make  my  devoirs  to  my  liege/’  was  the  baron’s  reply, 
‘■and  bid  him  welcome  to  Ravenscliff.” 

‘‘What  meaneth  this  visit  at  this  time,”  said  the  Lady 
Jaqueline,  “when  the  whole  kingdom  seemeth  to  think  of 
D aught  but  the  crusades  ? ” 

The  baron  smiled,  as  he^  replied : 

“ ISTo  mere  sport  is  this  grand  gathering  of  the  nobles  ; for 

1 trow  that  thousands  come  to  the  tournament,  and  the 
king  witteth  that  soldiers  flock  to  the  cross  from  such  like 
places.” 

“ When  look  we  for  the  court  ? ” 

“ In  a fortnight  hence ; and  there  must  be  speed  at  Ra« 
venscliflT.” 

The  young  demoiselles  were  like  a flock  of  butterflies  in 

128 


M A i/  D E AND  MIRIAM. 


129 


their  eager  delight;  each  one  already  planning  her  costume 
for  this  great  occasion : Eveline,  the  leader  among  them, 
and  Maude  also  pleased  with  the  idea  of  the  grand  spectacle. 

The  youth  of  the  castle  redoubled  their  zeal  in  the  prac- 
tice of  their  military  sports;  for,  although  but  few  of  them 
had  quite  reached  the  age  when  they  could  enter  the  lists  at 
tournaments,  still  there  might  be  other  occasions  when  they, 
could  display  their  accomplishments;  as  it  was  usual  tc 
allow  a trial  of  their  skill  on  the  day  before  a tournament. 
A horseman  of  modern  days  would  hang  his  head  with 
shame  to  see  these  youth,  completely  armed,  spring  upon 
horseback  without  putting  a foot  in  the  stirrup,  the  young 
equestrians  much  stimulated  by  the  presence  of  the  ladies 
of  the  castle ; for  all  was  military  excitement  now.  Lean- 
ing over  the  palisade  which  bounded  the  tilt-yard,  they 
stood  applauding  the  efforts  of  the  riders.  Some  turned 
somersaults  in  heavy  armor,  for  the  purpose  of  strengthenin  v 
their  arms.  Some  leaped  upon  the  shoulders  of  a horsema  i 
from  behind,  wdth  only  one  hand  laid  upon  his  shoulder.  It 
would  seem,  at  first  view,  that  few  constitutions  could  un- 
dergo such  violent  exertions  for  any  length  of  time ; but  one 
nrust  read  of  the  results  produced ; for  in  after-life  men 
were  found  bearing  a weight  that  few  persons  of  the  present 
day  could  lift,  through  the  heat  of  a summer's  day  undei 
the  burning  sun  of  Palestine.  Throughout  the  castle  was 
everywhere  seen  the  stir  of  preparation.  The  state  apart- 
ments were  thrown  open,  and  cleaned  according  to  the 
ideas  of  such  work  in  those  feudal  days.  The  heavy,  oaken 
bedsteads  were  covered  with  a canopy  of  crimson,  orn»- 

i 


130  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM 

merited  with  gilt  stars ; the  walls  hung  with  tapestiy  ; the 
coverlet  corresponding  with  the  canopy.  By  the  side  of 
eacli  bedstead  was  spread  a small  carpet,  — a piece  of  rare 
wealth,  — on  which,  standing  near  the  wall,  was  a table, 
holding  a silver  crucifix  and  a lamp  filled  with  perfumed 
oil.  A footstool,  before  the  table,  for  kneeling,  a few  mas- 
sive chairs  of  rude  workmanship,  and  six  silver  candelabra 
with  wax  candles,  completed  the  furniture  of  a sleeping 
apartment  for  royalty. 

The  country  has  been  scoured  all  around  for  provision  for 
such  a retinue,  and  old  Raoul,  in  the  kitchen,  is  in  a state 
of  fever-heat  as  to  how  he  shall  provide  for  the  court. 

The  day  has  arrived  at  length.  The  ladies,  in  their 
richest  attire,  and  the  young  esquires,  in  their  armor,  await 
the  coming  of  the  royal  party.  Maude,  from  her  turret, 
sees -the  cavalcade  in  the  distance;  the  banner  of  England 
waving  in  the  summer  breeze,  the  rich  dresses  of  the  court 
glittering  in  the  sunshine,  and  the  trumpets  announcing 
their  speedy  approach.  The  baron  and  his  retinue,  mounted, 
await  the  royal  train  at  the  drawbridge,  the  banners  of 
England  floating  proudly  from  the  keep  and  barbican,  and 
the  martial  music  of  the  castle  playing  national  airs. 

They  are  in  sight  now;  the  warder’s  horn  answers  the 
blast  of  the  trumpets,  and  “ Down  portcullis ! ” calls  the 
baron.  Issuing  out  from  the  ballium,  and  crossing  the 
drawbridge,  the  baron  and  his  retinue,  lowering  their  lances 
and  fixing  them  in  the  ground,  made  their  deep  obeisance 
to  the  king. 

^ Welcome,  Richard  Plantagenet,  King  of  England,  to  our 


MAt/DE  AND  MIRIAM. 


131 


castJe  of  Kavenscliff! said  the  baron,  and  then  making  his 
obeisance  to  the  queen-mother,  repeated  the  salutation. 

Heading  the  procession,  the  baron  conducted  the  royal 
train  over  the  balliuin ; the  music  playing ; the  walls  lined 
with  eager  spectators,  anxious  to  see  the  lion-hearted  King 
of  Englan  1.  Mounted  on  a noble  charger,  splendidly  ca- 
parisoned with  a foot-cloth  of  cloth  of  gold  heavily  em- 
broidered, and  reaching  nearly  to  the  ground,  we  behold 
Richard  Plantagenet. 

He  is  tall  and  majestic,  very  finely  formed,  with  blue  eyes 
full  of  fire,  and  hair  of  a yellow  hue,  much  admired  in  those 
days.  He  is  arrayed  in  the  dress  of  peace,  with  a dalmatic, 
or  long  tunic  of  crimson,  starred  with  gold,  girded  by  a rich 
belt,  over  which  was  worn  a mantle,  elegantly  embroidered 
with  half-moons  and  orbs  of  silver ; sandals  of  purple  cloth 
fretted  with  gold,  in  long  bandages  crossing  each  other 
equally  up  the  leg.  The  boots  were  green,  with  gold  spurs 
fastened  by  red  leather.  The  gloves,  reaching  nearly  to  the 
elbow,  were  embroidered  at  the  top,  with  jewels  on  the  back 
of  the  hand.  He  wore  a beard  and  mustache,  and  the  hair, 
curled,  hung  down  over  his  neck ; the  head  covered  by  a 
Phrygian  cap  bordered  with  jewels,  on  the  wrist  carrying 
a falcon. 

Thus  appeared  Coeur  de  Lion  in  the  sight  of  the  multi- 
tude upon  the  walls,  who  shouted,  with  loud  voices,  **  Long 
live  King  Richard  I ” 

The  queen  wore  a rich  green  robe  or  tunic,  long  and  flow- 
ing, with  tight  sleeves,  encircled  by  a girdle,  to  which  was 
suspended  an  almoniere,  somewhat  like  a modern  reticule 


r32 


MAUDE  AND 


Over  tlie  tunic  she  wore  a robe  embroidered  with  golden 
crescents.  The  wimple,  or  veil,  wrapped  around  the  head 
and  chin,  was  bound  upon  the  forehead  by  a jewelled  fillet, 
having  a diamond  in  the  centre.  Short  boots  and  embroid- 
ered gloves,  jewelled  also,  completed  the  costume  of  the 
(pieen. 

Onward  to  the  banqueting-hall  the  baron  led  the  royal 
party,  where  the  ladies  of  the  castle  were  in  waiting.  Two 
massive  chairs  were  placed  at  the  head  of  the  dais,  over 
which  was  suspended  a rich  canopy ; six  heavy  candelabras 
having  been  added  to  the  banqueting-hall. 

The  king  and  queen  marched  with  majestic  step  up  the 
great  hall,  to  the  chairs  of  state,  all  standing  until  the  royal 
pair  were  seated.  Then,  one  by  one,  the  ladies  advanced 
to  do  homage,  kneeling  before  the  king,  who  looked  with 
bold,  admiring  gaze  upon  the  lovely  daughters  of  De 
Vere. 

Escorted  to  their  apartments  by  a retinue  of  serving-men, 
headed  by  the  steward  and  cupbearer,  the  royal  party  re- 
tired to  rest  awhile  after  their  long  journey,  and  in  their 
private  apartments  were  bountifully  served  with  refresh- 
ments. 

The  banquet,  meanwhile,  was  in  a state  of  preparation ; 
old  Raoul  driving  his  serving-men  with  no  very  gentle 
words.  The  table  occupied  by  the  royal  party  and  the 
family  of  the  baron,  covered  with  scarlet  cloth,  was  stretched 
across  the  dais,  and  those  for  the  lower  orders  standing 
lengthwise,  formed  a letter  T.  When  all  was  ready,  the 
irumpets  announced  the  fact,  and,  headed  by  twelve  torch- 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


133 


beareis,  the  royal  party  entered  the  hall,  and  took  their  seats 
amid  strains  of  martial  music. " The  ceremony  of  bringing 
in  the  peacock,  served  in  the  most  showy  style,  was  performed 
by  the  Lady  Eveline,  followed  by  the  ladies  of  the  castle. 

Thou  boastest  queens  of  beauty  in  thine  old  castle,  De 
Vere,”  said  the  king,  gazing  rather  freely  at  the  sisters. 

- Very  diverse  in  their  characters,  my  liege;  one  of  earth, 
the  other  of  heaven.” 

“Lost  think  that  we  have  chosen  a fair  spot  for  our 
sports,  De  Vere?” 

“We  have  as  fine  a slope  as  can  be  found  throughout  the 
kingdom,  my  liege.  But  is  that  all  that  draweth  thee  away 
from  London  ? ” 

“ Believe  it  not,  De  Vere.  Taking  the  cross  ourself,  from 
the  crowds  coming  here  we  gain  many  soldiers.  Perchance 
there  be  some  among  the  noble  youth  at  the  castle  ready  for 
knighthood.” 

“ Certes ! that  be  so,  ray  liege ; and  many  haste  to  the  lists 
when  the  royal  hand  bestoweth  the  honor.” 

Lancelot  de  Vere,  Guy  de  Mowbray,  Walter  Davenant, 
and  several  others,  have  passed  through  all  the  prelimina- 
ries. Long  vigils,  fasts,  penances,  prayers,  and  confession 
preceded  the  ceremony,  and,  consequently,  we  find  the  young 
esquires  in  the  chapel  nightly,  keeping  their  midnight 
vigils.  Guy  de  Mowbray  has  heard  of  the  opportunity,  and 
has  eagerly  joined  the  aspirants.  Perhaps  none  of  those 
young  esquires  were  more  promising ; for,  possessed  of  every 
knightly  virtue,  he  was  truly  prepared  to  take  the  vows  of 
chivalry.  _ 

13 


134 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


On  the  day  appointed,  the  Bishop  of  Durham,  with  all 
the  knights  and  nobles  of  the  castle,  — the  prelate  in  the 
vestments  of  his  order,  the  knights  in  their  armor,  — con- 
! acted  the  young  aspirants  to  the  Abbey  of  St.  Hilary. 

The  ladies  of  the  castle,  and  others,  crowded  to  witness 
me  ceremonieSj  especial  seats  being  appointed  for  the  court; 
the  king  acting  as  godfather  to  the  young  novices. 

After  high  Mass  had  been  celebrated,  the  novices  ap- 
proached the  altar  and  presented  their  swords  to  the  bishop, 
who  blessed  and  consecrated  them  to  the  service  of  religion 
and  virtue.  The  occasion  was  one  of  more  than  usual  in- 
terest ; the  number  of  the  aspirants,  the  military  zeal  of  the 
age,  the  presence  of  the  king,  the  magnificence  of  the  prep- 
arations, all  gave  dignity  to  the  ceremony.  We  find,  there 
fore,  the  Bishop  of  Durham  warning  the  youth  of  the  diffi 
cuities  which  they  would  encounter  in  fulfiling  the  vows  of 
the  order. 

“ He  who  seeks  to  be  a knight,”  said  the  bishop,  “ should 
have  great  qualities.  He  must  be  of  noble  birth,  liberal  in 
gifts,  high  in  courage,  strong  in  danger,  secret  in  council, 
patient  in  difficulty,  powerful  against  enemies,  prudent  in 
]\is  deeds.  He  must  also  swear  to  observe  the  following 
rules  r To  undertake  nothing  without  having  heard  Mass 
and  fasting,  to  spare  neither  his  blood  nor  his  life  In  defence 
of  the  Holy  Catholic  faith,  to  give  aid  to  all  widows  and 
orphans,  to  undertake  no  war  without  just  cause,  to  favoi 
no  injustice ; but  to  protect  the  innocent  and  oppressed, 
to  be  humble  in  aL  things,  to  seek  the  welfare  of  those 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


136 


placed  under  him,  never  to  violate  the  law  of  his  sovereign, 
and  to  live  irreproachably  before  God  and  man.” 

Guy  de  Mowbray,  in  the  dress  of  an  esquire,  approached 
first ; the  bishop,  then  taking  his  joined  hands  in  his  own, 
placed  them  on  the  missal,  and  received  his  oath ; this  por- 
tion of  the  ceremony  being  followed  successively  by  each  of 
the  others.  Then  the  novices  carried  the  sword,  which  had 
been  blessed,  to  the  king,  and,  kneeling  before  him,  they 
plighted  their  solemn  vows. 

After  this,  the  knights  advanced  to  receive  their  armor ; 
Lancelot  and  Guy,  having  selected  Maude  and  Eveline,  — 
as  ladies  often  performed  that  office ; Maude  arming  Guy, 
and  Eveline  her  brother  Lancelot;  the  corslet  and  the 
greaves  buckled  on  first,  the  spear  and  sword  last.  Com- 
pletely armed,  the  novices  still  remained  kneeling  before 
the  king,  who,  rising  from  his  seat,  bestowed  upon  each 
the  accolade,  which  consisted  generally  of  three  blows  of  the 
naked  sword  upon  the  neck  or  shoulder,  the  king  pronounc- 
ing, in  a loud,  clear  voice;  “In  the  name  of  God  and  St.^ 
George,  I make  thee  knight.  Be  loyal,  bold,  and  true ; ” 
adding  also;  “Bear  this  blow,  and  never  bear  another.” 

After  receiving  the  blow,  which  ended  the  servitude  as 
esquire,  the  new  knights  were  decorated  with  their  casques, 
which  had  hitherto  been  held  beside  them  ; and  then  march 
ing  down  the  aisle  of  the  church,  amid  a flourish  of  trum- 
pets, at  the  door  of  the  abbey  they  sprang  upon  their 
horses,  showing  themselves  completely  armed  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  spectators,  while  the  heralds  proclaimed  their 
names  and  vaunted  of  their  prowess. 


136 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


In  the  after-part  of  the  day,  a tilting  match  was  held  in 
the  castle-yard,  witnessed  by  the  king,  queen,  and  ladies  of  the 
castle ; Guy  and  Lancelot,  by  the  mutual  exchange  of  arms, 
having  solemnly  adopted  each  other  as  brothers  in  arms. 
Both  were  equally  celebrated  for  strength  and  skilful  horse- 
manship, and  when  it  became  known  that  the  two  would 
engage  each  other,  great  excitement  was  produced  among 
the  gay  company. 

The  weapons  blunted  and  otherwise  restrained,  the  contest 
was  simply  one  of  skill ; but  it  is  probable  that  a modern 
lady  would  have  fainted  at  the  sight  of  the  fierce  onset,  the 
flashing  lances,  parried  with  inimitable  skill  by  the  two,  and 
the  tremendous  power  by  which  the  first  shock  was  sustained 
without  unhorsing  either;  then,  retreating  with  the  same 
wonderful  swiftness,  a second  onset  was  made,  more  fierce 
than  the  first,  the  noise  of  clashing  armor  mingling  with 
the  cries  of  the  spectators : ‘‘  Honor  to  the  brave ! The 
love  of  ladies ! Death  to  the  horses  ! ” 

At  the  second  onset,  a swift  and  skilful  blow  of  the  lance, 
struck  by  Guy  upon  Lancelot’s  casque,  made  him  reel  in  his 
saddle,  his  horse,  at  the  same  time  rearing,  upon  his  hind 
feet,  and  before  the  rider  could  recover  himself,  covered 
with  dust,  the  dismounted  knight  rolled  upon  the  ground, 
and  Guy  was  victor  of  the  day. 

Stooping  over  the  fallen  knight,  Guy  assisted  him  to  his 
feet;  but  there  was  no  injury,  save  a slight  bruise  from  the 
casque  in  falling.  Carrying  still  farther  the  mock  fight, 
Guy,  claiming  the  privilege  of  the  day,  advanced  to  Maude, 
declaring  her  as  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty ; then,  with 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


137 


a grace  all  her  own,  she  extended  the  prize  of  a bracelet, 
which  was  received  with  the  usual  knightly  privilege. 

‘'A  brave  and  gallant  knight!''  said  the  king  to  the 
Baron  of  Ravenscliff.  ‘‘One  can  scarcely  choose  atween 
the  two,  the  vanquished  or  the  victor.  We  trow  that  both 
perform  good  service  in  the  holy  war." 

Large  numbers  assembled  at  the  close  of  that  day  in  the 
chapel  at  vespers ; for  religious  enthusiasm  was  strangely 
stimulated  by  the  ceremonies  of  the  morning.  Guy  prayed 
with  renewed  devotion  to  the  blessed  Virgin,  and  Maude 
with  deeper  earnestness  to  her  newly  found  Mediator.  After 
the  service,  we  find  the  two  alone  in  the  rude  retreat  in  the 
pleasance. 

“ Stirring  days  be  upon  us.  Grey,"  said  his  companion ; “for 
all  the  day  I have  seen  thee  on  the  battle-fields  of  Palestine;  for 
there  thou  wilt  be  ere  many  suns  rise  upon  the  Holy  Land." 

“ It  is  a glorious  cause,  Maude,  that  calleth  every  brave 
knight  away ; and  thou  hinderest  not,  I trow,  by  thy  soft 
words?" 

“ When  I girded  on  thine  armor,  Guy,  I prayed  that  thou 
mightest  be  a true  and  loyal  knight ; and  though  it  wringeth 
the  heart  to  say  farewell,  I could  speak  the  words  for  the 
sake  of  our  dear  Lord." 

“ Thou  art  one  of  the  sainted  ones,  Maude,  and  I trow 
that  thy  dear  prayer  entereth  the  ear  of  the  Holy  Virgin." 

“ Rather  would  I reach  the  ear  of  our  Lord  himself,  and 
the  Gospel  tel  let  h us  that  he  saith  : 

“ ^ If  ye  shall  ask  anything  in  my  name,  I will  do  it.* " 

“ He  heareth  thee,  Maude,  at  all  times." 

12* 


CHAPTER  XII. 


THE  TOURNAMENT. 

TTERALDS  had  travelled  throughout  the  kingdom  to 
proclaim  the  tournament  to  be  held  by  the  King  of 
England  at  Ravenscliff ; — by  no  means  a mere  sport  to  Coeur 
de  Lion ; for  he  meant  that  it  should  be  an  occasion  when, 
the  military  enthusiasm  at  its  height,  the  holy  cause  should 
be  pressed  upon  the  nobles ; and  perhaps  in  no  other  way 
could  such  an  impetus  be  given  to  the  incipient  expedition. 

The  spot  chosen  was  eminently  romantic  and  appropriate. 
About  half  a mile  from  the  castle  was  an  extensive  slope 
of  the  finest  green  turf,  bordered  on  one  side  by  a line  of 
noble  oaks,  and  on  the  other  by  one  of  those  unbroken  for- 
ests common  in  those  remote  days,  — the  level  at  the  foot, 
enclosed  by  a palisade,  with  an  opening  at  either  end  for 
the  combatants,  having  wooden  gates  wide  enough  for  two 
hoi’semen  to  ride  abreasl.  Two  heralds  were  stationed  at 
each  gate.  Six  trumpets  and  as  many  pursuivants,  guarded 
by  a strong  body  of  men-at-arms,  to  preserve  order. 

There  was  a platform  elevated  beyond,  on  a natural  emi- 
nence, where  were  five  magnificent  pavilions,  adorned  with 
pennons  of  orange  and  black,  the  cords  of  the  tents  of  the 
same  colors. 


138 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


139 


■\ 

\- 


Before  each  pavilion  luing  the  sliield  of  the  knight, 
guarded  by  his  esquire  in  some  fantastic  disguise.  The 
central  pavilion  had  heim  assigned  to  Reginald  de  Vere, 
whose  renown  in  all  games  of  chivalry,  as  well  as  his 
knightly  character,  had  obtained  for  him  the  distinction  of 
chief  on  the  tilted  fiehl.  Sii’  Rryan  d(‘  Bourg  and  Sir  Ame- 
lot  de  Russy  occupied  tents  on  one  side  of  the  chief,  and  Sir 
Roger  d’Evreux  and  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy  on  the  other. 

A gently  sloping  passage,  ten  yards  wide,  led  to  the  j)lat- 
form  on  which  the  tents  were  ])itched.  It  was  strongly  se- 
cured on  each  side,  as  was  also  the  esplanade,  and  all 
guarded  by  men-at-arms. 

There  was  also  at  the  north  an  access  to  the  lists,  a large 
enclosed  space,  for  such  knights  as  might  wish  to  enter  the 
lists  with  the  challengers.  Behind  this  space  were  tents, 
containing  refreshments  of  every  kind,  armorers,  farriers, 
and  others,  whose  services  might  be  needed.  Outside  the 
lists,  there  were  galleries  spread  with  tapestry  and  carpets, 
with  cushions  for  the  accommodation  of  those  ladies  and 
nobles  who  were  expected.  Banners  and  bandrols  floated 
proudly  over  the  galleries;  silk  and  cloth  of  gold  formed 
the  draperies.  Proud  escutcheons  everywhere  proclainuMi 
the  presence  of  the  flower  of  the  nobility  of  England. 

A narrow^  space,  much  like  the  pit  of  a theatre,  below  tin 
galleries  accommodated  the  yeomanry  and  spectators  of  a 
better  degree  than  the  more  vulgar.  iMultitudes  of  the  hit 
ter  sought  places  of  lookout  from  large  banks  of  turf  j)re- 
pared  for  them  on  an  elevated  piece  of  ground.  Hundreds 
perched  themselves  upon  the  tree-tops.,  and  even  the  high 


140 


MAUDB  AND  MIRIAM. 


$ieeple  of  an  old  church  was  crowded  with  spectators.  There 
was  one  point,  however,  of  especial  interest ; for  in  the  cen- 
tre of  the  eastern  gallery,  directly  opposite  to  the  spot  where 
the  shock  of  the  combat  must  take  place,  seats  were  raised 
higher  than  the  others,  richly  decorated,  graced  by  a sort 
of  throne  and  canopy  of  cloth  of  gold,  on  which  the  royal 
arms  were  emblazoned.  Squires,  pages,  and  yeomanry  in 
rich  liveries  waited  around  this  place  of  honor,  designed  for 
the  king  and  Queen  Eleanor.  Opposite,  raised  to  the  same 
height,  was  another  seat  of  honor,  more  gayly  but  less  sump- 
tuously decorated.  A train  of  pages  and  young  maidens, 
the  most  beautiful  that  could  be  found,  in  fancy  habits  of 
green  and  pink,  surrounded  a throne  decorated  with  the 
same  colors.  Airy  pennons  bearing  wounded  hearts,  bleed- 
ing hearts,  bows  and  quivers,  and  a blazoned  inscription,  in- 
formed the  spectators  that  this  seat  of  honor  was  designed 
for  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty. 

And  now  commenced  the  arrival  of  the  spectators,  press- 
ing forward  to  occupy  their  respective  seats ; not,  however, 
without  many  disputes,  which  were  speedily  settled  by  offi- 
cers of  the  field,  who,  armed  at  all  points,  rode  up  and  down 
to  preserve  good  order. 

Gradually  the  galleries  became  filled  with  knights  and 
nobles  in  their  robes  of  peace;  the  many  richly-tinted  colors 
of  their  long  mantles  contrasting  strongly  with  the  gayer 
and  more  splendid  costume  of  the  ladies,  who,  in  a larger 
proportion  than  even  the  men,  assembled  to  witness  sports 
which  a modern  lady  would  think  too  bloody  and  dangerous 
for  amusement.  A few  knights-templar  mingled  with  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


141 


crowd,  wearing  under-tunics  of  dark  purple  silk,  garnished 
with  furs,  over  which  flowed  the  long  white  robe  in  ample 
folds ; the  eight-pointed  cross  of  the  order  cut  on  the  shoul- 
der of  the  mantle  in  black  velvet ; the  high  cap  removed. 
The  hair  was  worn  in  short,  thick  curls. 

Tho  lower  space  was  soon  filled  by  those  of  inferior 
orders  and  such  of  the  lesser  gentry  who,  from  modesty, 
poverty,  or  other  causes,  durst  not  assume  a higher  place. 

But  the  royal  party  are  entering,  announced  by  the  shrill 
trumpets,  the  multitude,  in  their  eagerness,  rising  to  their 
feet  to  see  the  spectacle. 

The  king  and  queen  rode  first,  on  palfreys  splendidly  ca- 
parisoned, attended  by  a gay  and  numerous  train  of  laymen 
and  churchmen  ; the  latter  as  light  in  their  bearing,  and  gay 
in  their  dress,  as  their  companions. 

Among  the  latter  was  the  Prior  of  St.  Albans,  in  the  most 
gorgeous  trim  which  a church  dignitary  could  assume ; his 
robe  one  of  costly  material,  over  which  he  wore  a cope  curi- 
ously embroidered.  Fur  and  gold  were  not  spared  in  his 
attire;  for,  beside  the  heavy  golden  signet  ring  which 
marked  his  dignity,  though  contrary  to  the  canon,  his  fingers 
were  loaded  with  precious  gems.  His  sandals  were  of  the 
finest  leather,  imported  from  Spain  ; the  points  of  his  boots, 
exceeding  the  fashion  of  the  times,  turned  up  so  far  as  to  be 
fastened  not  to  his  knees  merely,  but  to  his  very  girdle. 
His  beard  was  trimmed  to  as  small  dimensions  as  his  order 
would  permit,  and  his  shaven  cicwn  was  concealed  by  a 
scarlet  cap,  richly  embroidered. 


142 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


The  king  was  well  mounted,  splendidly  attired  in  crimson 
and  gold,  bearing  on  his  wrist  a falcon.  As  he  caracolled 
within  the  lists,  at  the  head  of  his  jovial  party,  it  was  with 
no  small  share  of  royal  audacity  that  he  criticized  the 
beauties  who  adorned  the  galleries;  Maude  and  Eveline 
evidently  attracting  his  especial  notice,  who,  in  the  glow  of 
their  beauty  and  the  richness  of  their  dress,  shone  conspicu- 
ous among  the  crowd. 

Just  at  this  spot  the  king  halted,  and,  turning  to  the  prior, 
said : 

“ By  my  halidom,  sir  prior,  we  need  look  no  farther  for 
our  Queen  of  Beauty,  for  the  white  hand  of  the  Lady  Eve- 
line de  Vere  taketh  precedence  of  all  the  fair  ladies.’’ 

“None  fairer,  my  liege,”  replied  the  prior;  “but,  with 
permission  from  your  grace,  it  seemeth  meet  that  the  fair 
sovereign’s  throne  remaineth  unoccupied  until  the  conqueror 
shall  be  named,  and  then  he  hath  the  choice.  It  addeth 
another  grace  to  his  triumph,  and  teach eth  fair  ladies  to 
prize  the  love  which  exalteth  them  to  such  honor.’' 

Observing  signs  of  impatience  among  the  audience,  the 
royal  party  took  the  seats  appointed  for  them,  and  the  king 
gave  the  signal  to  the  heralds  to  proclaim  the  laws  of  the 
tournament. 

The  lists  now  presented  a most  splendid  and  imposing 
spectacle.  The  galleries  were  crowded  with  all  that  was 
wealthy,  great,  and  beautiful  in  the  northern  and  middle 
parts  of  England ; the  contrast  in  the  dress  adding  greatly 
io  the  splendor.  It  was,  moreover,  one  of  the  brightest  of 
September  days,  when  the  sun  shone  in  his  glory  over  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


143 


gorgeous  pageant ; the  graua  old  trees  spreading  out  their 
branching  arms  over  the  landscape. 

The  heralds  ceased  their  proclamation  with  the  usual  cry 
of  Largess,  largess,  gallant  knights  ! ” when  gold  and  silver 
pieces  were  showered  upon  them, — it  being  a boast  of  chiv« 
airy  to  be  liberal  to  those  who  were  esteemed  officers  of 
honor, — the  bounty  acknowledged  by  the  shouts  of  Love  of 
ladies  I Death  of  champions  ! Glory  to  the  brave ! Honor 
to  the  generous  ! ” accompanied  by  the  flourish  of  their  mar- 
tial instruments  by  a numerous  band  of  trumpeters. 

Then  the  heralds  withdrew  from  the  lists  in  glittering  pro- 
cession, and  none  remained  within  save  the  marshals  of  the 
field,  who,  armed  cap-a-pie,  sat  on  horseback,  motionless  as 
statues,  at  the  opposite  ends. 

The  large  space  at  the  northern  end  was  now  crowded 
with  knights,  desirous  to  try  their  skill  against  the  chal- 
lengers, who,  when  viewed  from  the  galleries,  looked  like  a 
sea  of  waving  plumage, — the  glistening  helmets  and  tall 
lances,  each  bearing  small  pennons  fluttering  in  the  breeze. 

At  length  the  barriers  were  opened,  and  five  knights, 
chosen  by  lot,  advanced  slowly  into  the  arena ; a single 
champion  riding  in  front,  and  four  others  following  in  pair 
each  wearing  some  token  of  his  lady-love.  The  champiox^o 
advanced  slowly,  restraining  their  fiery  steeds,  at  the  same 
time  exhibiting  their  paces  and  the  grace  of  the  riders. 
With  thousands  of  eyes  fixed  upon  them,  the  knights  rode 
up  to  the  platform  where  tlie  tents  stood,  and  there  separa- 
ting, each  touched  slightly;  with  the  lance  reversed,  the 
shield  of  his  chosen  opponent.  Even  some  of  the  ladies 


144  MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 

seemed  disappointed  when  it  was  found  that  they  had  chosen 
the  arms  of  courtesy ; for  the  interest  of  a tournament  was 
generally  most  intense  when  the  greatest  danger  was  in- 
curred. The  champions  then  retreated  to  the  extremity  of 
the  lists,  where  they  remained  drawn  up  in  a line. 

The  interest  of  the  spectators  was  now  on  the  qui  srive ; 
for  the  challengers,  headed  by  Sir  Reginald  de  Vere,  sallied 
out  each  from  his  pavilion,  and,  mounting  their  horses,  de- 
scended from  the  platform,  and  opposed  themselves  individ- 
ually to  the  knights  who  had  touched  their  shields.  Now 
came  the  flourish  of  clarions  and  trumpets,  when  the  specta- 
tors arose,  the  ladies  pressing  forward  in  their  eagerness, 
and  the  combatants  rushing  out  against  each  other  at  full 
gallop.  Such  was  the  tremendous  force  of  the  shock  and 
the  skill  of  the  challengers,  that  those  opposed  to  four  of  the 
knights  rolled  upon  the  ground.  The  fifth  alone  maintained 
the  honor  of  his  party,  and  parted  with  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg, 
both  splintering  their  lances  without  advantage  to- either. 
The  shouts  of  the  spectators,  the  acclamations  of  the  heralds, 
and  the  flourish  of  trumpets  announced  the  triumph  of  the 
victors  and  the  defeat  of  the  vanquished.  The  former  re- 
treated to  their  pavilions,  and  the  latter,  in  dejection,  with- 
drew from  the  lists,  to  agree  with  their  victors  concerning 
the  redemption  of  their  arms  and  horses.  The  fifth  only 
tarried  long  enough  in  the  lists  to  be  greeted  by  the  applause 
of  the  spectators,  adding  greatly  to  the  mortification  of  his 
defeated  companions.  Several  other  parties  took  the  field 
with  various  success ; the  advantage,  however,  remaining 
with  the  challengers. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


146 


Three  knights  only  appeared  on  the  fourth,  avoiding  the 
shields  of  De  Vere  and  De  Bourg.  This,  however,  did  not 
ijhauge  the  character  of  the  combat,  for  the  challengers 
were  still  successful. 

Then  came  a long  pause ; nor  did  it  seem  that  any  one 
was  anxious  to  renew  the  encounter ; the  long  interval  un- 
interrupted save  by  the  heralds  exclaiming : ‘‘  Love  of  la- 
dies ! Splintering  of  lances  I Stand  forth,  gallant  knights  I 
Fair  eyes  look  upon  your  deeds.” 

The  music,  also,  of  the  challengers  breathed  defiance ; the 
old  knights  lamented  in  whispers  the  decay  of  martial 
spirit,  and  agreed  that  no  such  dames  of  beauty  could  now 
be  found  as  those  which  graced  +he  jousts  of  their  young 
days. 

At  length,  as  the  king  began  to  talk  of  making  ready  the 
banquet,  and  awarding  the  prize  to  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg, 
who  had  overthrown  three  knights,  the  music  of  the  chal- 
lengers was  heard  again  sounding  a wild  flourish  of  fierce 
triumph,  breaking  the  silence  of  the  lists,  answered  this 
time  by  a note  of  defiance  at  the  other  end. 

All  eyes  were  turned  now  to  see  the  new  champion,  who, 
as  soon  as  the  barriers  were  opened,  paced  into  the  lists. 
Mounted  on  a gallant  charger,  he  advanced  straight  up  to 
the  central  pavilion,  and  struck  with  the  sharp  end  of  his 
spear  the  shield  of  Reginald  de  Vere  until  it  rung  again. 

The  families  of  De  Mowbray  and  De  Vere  looked  on  with 
beating  hearts,  for  the  heads  of  each  house  were  now  the 
combatants ; not  with  arms  of  courtesy,  but  of  ou trance, 
which  proclaimed  a real  combat  of  a different  and  more 
Id  K 


146 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


dangerous  kind.  De  Mowbray  had  long  desired  the  oppcr- 
tunity  for  revenge  which  was  now  presented  ; his  early  dis' 
appointment,  the  great  popularity  of  the  Baron  of  Ravens- 
cliff,  his  enormous  wealth,  the  recipient  of  tlie  favors  of 
the  king,  who  had  chosen  his  castle  for  the  tournament,  and, 
now,  the  fact  that  his  hated  rival  was  the  chief  challenger 
in  the  eyes  of  all  England,  were  all  so  many  drops  of  gall 
to  his  already  embittered  spirit,  and  with  a determination  to 
humble  his  rival^die  stood  opposite  to  De  Vere  at  the  ex- 
tremity of  the  lists,  the  public  excitement  strained  to  the 
highest  pitch,  for  the  brave  knight  of  Ravenscliff  was  the 
most  honored  of  all  the  neighboring  nobles.  The  trumpets 
had  no  sooner  given  the  signal,  than  the  champions  vanished 
from  their  posts  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  and  closed  in 
the  centre  of  the  lists  with  the  shock  of  a thunderbolt.  The 
lances  burst  into  shivers  at  the  very  grasp,  and  it  seemed 
for  a moment  that  both  knights  had  fallen,  for  the  shock 
had  made  each  horse  recoil  upon  his  haunches. 

Maude  placed  her  hand  upon  her  heart  and  raised  one 
earnest  prayer  for  her  father ; the  Lady  Jaqueline  gave  one 
faint  scream,  hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  ; Eveline  stretched 
out  both  arms,  as  though  entreating;  Blanche  and  Alice, 
clasped  in  each  other’s  arms,  awaited  breathlessly  the  issue 
of  the  contest. 

By  the  use  of  bridle  and  spur,  the  riders  recovered  their 
steeds,  and,  glaring  at  each  other  an  instant  with  fiery  eyes, 
made  a demi-volte,  then  retiring  to  the  extremity  of  the  lists, 
refjeived  a fresh  lance  from  the  attendants. 

A loud  shout  from  the  spectators,  waving  of  scarfe,  and 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


147 


general  plaudits  attested  the  interest  taken,  for  this  encounter 
was  the  most  equal  as  well  as  the  best  sustained  of  the  day. 
But  there  is  a dead  silence,  the  multitude  seeming  almost 
afraid  to  breathe,  for  the  knights  have  resumed  their  station. 

A few  minutes’  pause  having  been  allowed  that  the  com- 
batants and  their  steeds  might  recover  their  breath,  when 
the  king  with  his  truncheon  signed  to  the  trumpets  to  sound 
the  onset.  The  champions  a second  time  sprang  from  their 
stations  and  closed  in  the  centre  of  the  lists  with  the  same 
violence,  but  not  the  same  equal  fortune  as  before.  In  this 
second  encounter,  De  Mowbray  aimed  at  the  centre  of  his 
antagonist’s  shield,  and  struck  it  so  forcibly  that  his  spear 
went  to  shivers,  and  De  Vere  reeled  in  his  saddle.  In  the 
beginning  of  his  career,  De  Vere  had  directed  the  point  of 
Ills  lance  toward  De  Mowbray’s  shield,  but  suddenly  chang- 
ing his  aim,  he  attacked  the  helmet,  a much  more  difficult 
blow,  but  which  he  knew  would  render  the  shock  irre- 
sistible. 

Yet  still  De  Mowbray  maintained  his  seat,  and  had  not 
his  saddle-girth  broken,  would  not  have  been  unhorsed  ; as 
it  chanced,  however,  saddle,  man,  and  horse  rolled  on  the 
ground  under  a cloud  of  dust. 

To  exti’icate  himself  from  the  stirrups  and  the  fallen 
steed  was  but  the  work  of  a moment,  and  stung  not  only  by 
his  defeat,  but  by  the  acclamation  of  the  multitude  at  his 
rival’s  victory,  he  waved  his  sword  in  defiance  of  his  con- 
queror. De  Vere,  with  knightly  generosity,  refused  the 
present  challenge,  desiring  no  farther  humiliation^  and  least 
of  all  willing  to  endanger  the  life  of  his  enemy. 


148 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


We  shall  meet  again,  I trust,’’  said  De  Mowbray,  “ on 
foot  or  horseback,  with  spear,  axe,  or  sword.  I am  ready 
to  encounter  thee.” 

“ I seek  not  thy  blood,  De  Mowbray.  Why  should  we  pro- 
long a senseless  feud  ? ” 

“ Because  I hate  thee,  Reginald  de  V ere,  crossing  my  path 
everywhere.” 

More  angry  words  would  have  been  exchanged,  but  the 
marshals,  crossing  their  lances  between  the  two,  compelled 
them  to  separate. 

Without  alighting  from  his  horse,  the  conqueror  called 
for  a bowl  of  wine,  and,  opening  the  lower  part  of  his  helmet, 
announced  that  he  quaffed  it  to  all  true  English  hearts 
and  to  the  confusion  of  foreign  tyrants.”  Retiring  to  his 
pavilion,  there  was  another  pause  in  the  combat,  when  the 
flourisl  of  trumpets  summoned  others  to  the  lists;  answered 
by  a single  fierce  blast  of  a trumpet  at  the  lower  extremity, 
the  barriers  opened,  and  a youthful  knight,  mounted  on  a 
black  charger,  paced  slowly  up  the  lists.  The  new  adven- 
turer did  not  much  exceed  the  middle  size,  and  seemed  to 
be  rather  slender,  though  strongly  made.  His  suit  of  armor 
was  formed  of  steel  richly  inlaid  with  gold,  a lady’s  bracelet 
fastened  in  his  crest.  As  he  rode  gallantly  along,  he  grace- 
fully saluted  the  royal  party  and  the  ladies  by  lowering  his 
lance.  The  dexterity  with  which  he  managed  his  spirited 
horse,  and  the  youthful  grace  displayed . by  the  rider,  won 
for  him  the  favor  of  the  multitude.  Moving  onward,  the 
champion  ascended  the  sloping  platform,  and,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  all,  struck  with  the  sharp  end  of  his  spear  the  shield 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


149 


of  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg,  the  most  renowned  of  all  the  chal- 
lengers for  strength  and  skill. 

Maude’s  cheek  blanched  as  she  recognized  the  device  upon 
the  shield  as  that  of  Guy  de  Mowbray. 

She  knew  much  of  his  skill  as  a horseman  and  his  bravery 
as  a knight ; but  a thousand  fears  filled  her  heart  as  she 
looked  at  the  stalwart  frame  of  his  antagonist.  At  the 
signal,  both  rushed  with  the  speed  of  lightning,  and  closed 
in  the  centre  of  the  lists  with  tremendous  force,  retain- 
ing their  seats  manfully.  Sir  Guy  had  the  advantage  of 
swiftness.  Sir  Bryan  of  strength,  and  in  the  combat  that 
followed,  each  strove  for  the  mastery.  Both  champions 
broke  their  lances  fairly  ; but  Sir  Bryan,  who  lost  a stirrup 
in  the  encounter,  was  judged  to  have  the  disadvantage.  In 
the  second  onset,  Guy  was  equally  successful.  Striking  Sir 
Bryan  so  forcibly  upon  the  casque  that  the  fastenings  of  the 
helmet  broke,  and  only  saved  from  falling  by  being  unhelmed, 
he  was  declared  vanquished  again.  Sir  Bryan  retiring  dis- 
comfited to  his  pavilion,  Guy  remained  master  of  the  field ; and 
challenging  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy,  the  young  knight  showed 
as  much  courtesy  as  he  had  hitherto  displayed  courage  and 
generosity.  De  Courcy’s  horse,  which  was  young  and  violent, 
reared  and  plunged  so  furiously  in  the  course  of  the  career 
m to  disturb  the  rider’s  aim,  and  Guy,  disdaining  to  take 
advantage  of  the  circumstance,  raised  his  lance,  and,  passing 
his  antagonist  without  touching  him,  whirled  his  horse  and 
rode  again  to  his  own  end  of  the  lists,  offering  Sir  Hugh,  by 
a herald,  the'  chance  of  a second  encounter.  This,  however, 
was  declined.  Sir  Hugh  acknowledging  himself  vanquished, 
U* 


150 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


as  much  by  the  courtesy  as  by  the  skill  of  his  opponent 
Sir  Amelot  de  Russy  summed  up  the  list  of  Guy’s  triumphs, 
being  hurled  to  the  ground  with  such  force  that  the  blood 
gushed  from  his  nose  and  mouth,  and  he  was  borne  senseless 
from  the  lists,  accompanied  by  Guy  to  his  pavilion,  where 
proper  attention  was  paid  to  the  disabled  knight,  Guy  then 
riding  his  horse  backward  down  the  slope  which  he  had 
just  ascended,  compelling  him  to  move  thus  through 
the  lists  to  the  northern  extremity,  amid  the  loud  shouts  of 
thousands  who  applauded  his  graceful  horsemanship. 

The  acclamations  of  the  multitude  hailed  the  announce- 
ment that  the  king  awarded  the  day’s  honors  to  Sir  Guy  de 
Mowbray.  The  marshals  then  led  the  young  knight  to  the 
foot  of  a flight  of  steps  which  formed  the  ascent  to  the  throne 
of  Coeur  de  Lion,  who,  with  words  of  strong  eulogy  upon 
his  valor,  caused  to  be  delivered  to  him  the  war-horse  as- 
signed as  the  prize  to  the  successful  combatant. 

With  a profound  obeisance,  Guy  replied  in  a few  words 
to  the  compliments  of  the  king.  The  horse  was  then  led 
into  the  lists  by  two  grooms  in  livery,  the  animal  himself 
fully  accoutred  with  the  richest  war  furniture.  Laying  one 
hand  upon  the  pommel  of  the  saddle.  Sir  Guy  vaulted  at 
once  upon  the  back  of  the  steed  without  using  the  stirrup, 
and,  brandishing  aloft  his  lance,  rode  twice  around  the  lists, 
exhibiting  the  points  and  powers  of  the  animal  with  tne 
skill  of  a perfect  horseman.  Those  who  knew  Sir  Guy 
would  never  think  of  attributing  this  display  to  personal 
vanity,  but  saw  in  the  act  only  a proper  method  of  showing 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


161 


his  appreciation  of  the  princely  reward  with  which  he  had 
just  been  honored. 

Amid  the  renewed  plaudits  of  the  spectators,  ladies 
waving  their  scarfs,  pennons  fluttering,  and  the  shouts  nf 

Honor  to  the  generous,’’  ‘‘Glory  to  the  brave,”  “Old  Eng- 
land forever,”  Guy  passed  triumphantly  through  the  lists. 

In  the  meanwhile,  the  prior  reminded  the  king,  in  a 
wliisper,  that  the  victor  must  now  display  his  judgment  by 
selecting  from  among  the  beauties  who  graced  the  galleries 
a lady  who  should  occupy  the  throne  of  the  Queen  of  Love 
and  Beauty,  whose  office  it  should  be  to  deliver  the  prize  of 
the  tourney  on  the  following  day.  The  king  accordingly 
made  a sign  with  his  truncheon,  as  the  knight  passed  him 
in  his  career  around  the  lists. 

Turning  toward  the  throne,  and  sinking  his  lance  until 
the  point  was  within  one  foot  of  the  ground.  Sir  Guy  re- 
mained motionless,  as  if  expecting  the  king’s  orders,  while 
the  spectators  admired  the  dexterity  with  which  he  reduced 
his  fiery  steed  from  a state  of  violent  excitement  to  the  still- 
ness of  an  equestrian  statue. 

“ Sir  Knight,”  said  the  king,  “ it  is  now  your  duty,  as 
well  as  privilege,  to  name  the  fair  lady  who,  as  Queen  of 
Love  and  Beauty,  is  to  preside  over  to-morrow’s  tourney. 
Raise  your  lance.” 

Sir  Guy  obeyed,  and  the  king  placed  upon  its  point  a 
coronet  of  green  satin,  bordered  with  a circlet  of  gold,  the 
upper  edge  relieved  by  arrow-points,  and  hearts  placed  inter- 
changingly,  like  the  leaves  upon  a ducal  crown.  The  knight 
then  paced  slowly  around  the  lists,  glancing  at  the  fair  faces 


152 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


which  adorned  the  circle,  quite  an  amusing  study  to  the  bo" 
holder,  as  the  different  characters  were  displayed  in  the 
manner  with  which  they  endured  the  scrutiny. 

At  length  the  champion  passed  beneath  the  gallery  where 
sat  the  family  of  Ravensclilf,  and  the  expectation  of  the 
spectators  was  excited  to  the  utmost. 

Sir  Guy  remained  stationary  for  more  than  a minute, 
while  the  eyes  of  the  silent  audience  watched  his  motions ; 
then,  gracefully  sinking  the  point  of  his  lance,  he  deposited 
the  coronet  at  the  feet  of  Maude  de  Vere. 

The  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  heralds  proclaimed  the 
Lady  Maude  de  Vere  as  the  Queen’’  of  the  day. 

They  then  repeated  the  cry  of  Largess ! ” that  was 
liberally  responded  to,  and  the  shout  went  up  from  the 
multitude,  ‘‘Long  live  the  Lady  Maude!  the  chosen  and 
lawful  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty.”  After  the  king  had 
offered  his  salutations  to  the  youthful  queen,  he  stepped 
aside  a moment  to  make  room  for  the  father,  who,  according 
to  the  custom,  placed  the  crown  upon  the  head  of  the  only 
sovereign.  The  king  then  leading  the  way,  followed  by  his 
train,  retreated  from  the  lists,  and  the  sports  of  the  day  had 
ended.  In  various  routes  the  company  were  seen  in  vast 
multitudes  leaving  the  gay  scene,  by  far  the  largest  number 
taking  the  i;oad  to  the  nearest  town,  the  royal  party  and  a 
numerous  company  returning  to  the  castle.  Some,  bent  upon 
their  share  of  the  evening’s  sports,  remained  on  the  ground 
to  enjoy  the  entertainment  afforded  by  some  minstrels,  ^ 
juggler,  a saltimbank,  arid  a story-teller,  who  tarried  behind 
for  the  amusement  of  quite  a large  audience. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


153 


The  menials  had  stripped  the  galleries  of  the  cushions 
and  tapestry  to  put  them  in  a place  of  safety  for  the  night ; 
beyond  the  precincts,  several  forges  gleaming  through  the 
twilight  announced  the  presence  of  the  armorers,  who  were 
working  all  night  repairing  or  altering  armor. 

A bright  moonlight  tempted  those  in  the  neighborhood  to 
tarry  for  the  sport,  and  the  four  made  quite  a profitable 
night  among  the  rude  peasantry,  who  seldom  met  with  such 
brave  amusement.  The  retinue  at  the  castle  enjoyed  a mag- 
nificent banquet;  their  pleasure  much  marred,  however,  by 
the  absence  of  the  De  Mowbrays,  who  durst  not  brave  the 
displeasure  of  the  baron,  after  the  defeat  of  the  day,  but 
took  up  their  abode  for  the  night  at  the  neighboring  town. 
Everything  that  could  interest  a barbarous  age  was  here 
collected,  and  the  banqueting-hall,  the  kitchen,  and  the 
ballium,  all  had  their  minstrels  and  their  jugglers,  whose 
songs  and  merry-making  continued  until  a late  hour  of  the 
night. 

Note.  For  the  description  of  the  main  features  of  the  tourna- 
ment, the  writer  is  much  indebted  to  Sir  Walter  Scott,  in  I is  novel 
of  Ivanlioe.' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  EVIL  EYE  AT  HAWKSWORTH. 

11HE  season  for  this  bright  array  had  been  well  chosen, 
- for  on  the  second  day  the  sun  rose  in  all  his  splendor, 
and  at  an  early  hour  the  company  might  be  seen  assembling 
to  select  the  best  appropriated  seats. 

Although  the  general  combat  was  much  more  dangerous 
than  the  single,  there  was  no  lack  of  numbers  in  the  knights 
who  sought  to  enter  the  lists,  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  leading 
one  party.  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray  the  other. 

About  ten  o’clock  the  place  was  crowded  with  persons 
hastening  to  the  tournament,  and  soon  a flourish  of  trum* 
pets  announced  the  coming  of  the  royal  party,  finding  the 
queen  of  the  day  already  there. 

With  all  the  princely  grace  that  so  well  became  him,  the 
king  rode  forward  to  meet  her,  doifed  his  bonnet,  and,  dis- 
mounting, assisted  the  Lady  Maude  from  her  saddle,  .lis 
followers  uncovering  at  the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  dis- 
tinguished holding  her  palfrey. 

‘Ht  is  thus,”  said  the  king,  that  we  set  the  example  of 
loyalty  to  the  Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  and  are  ourselves 
her  guide  to  the  throne.  Ladies,”  he  continued,  ‘‘  attend 

154 


MAUDE  MIRIAM. 


155 


your  queeu,  as  you  wish  to  be  distinguished  in  like  manner.^’ 
So  saying,  the  king  gallantly  led  Lady  Maude  to  the 
til  rone,  while  the  most  distinguished  present  crowded  to 
obtain  seats  as  near  as  possible  to  the  sovereign  of  the  day. 

burst  of  music  greeted  her  new  dignity,  half  drowned 
by  the  shouts  of  the  multitude. 

“It  was  not  our  choice,’’  said  the  king  to  one  of  the 
nobles,  “ for  the  light  and  graceful  Lady  Eveline  beareth  off 
the  palm  of  beauty ; but  the  young  queen  beareth  herself 
with  modest  grace,  and  a face  of  saintly  guise  blusheth 
beneath  that  veil.” 

The  heralds  then  proclaimed  silence,  while  the  laws  of  the 
tournament  should  be  rehearsed.  They  were  such  as  were 
intended  to  diminish  danger,  as  the  combat  was  to  be  with 
sharp  swords  and  lances ; thrusts,  however,  strictly  for- 
bidden. The  long  procession  entered  in  two  imposing  files, 
arraying  themselves  opposite  to  each  other  in  the  lists,  thfl 
leader’s  place  in  the  centre  not  taken  until  the  ranks  were 
carefully  examined  by  the  marshals  to  see  that  the  numbers 
were  equal. 

It  was  truly  a gallant  sight;  the  one  hundred  knights 
heavily  mounted,  richly  armed,  seated  on  their  war-horses 
like  so  many  pillars  of  iron,  the  steeds  pawing  the  ground, 
and  fiercely  neighing  in  their  impatience  for  the  signal. 
The  knights  held  their  lances  upright,  the  sharp  points  glit- 
tering in  the  sunshine,  the  gay  streamers  floating  from  each 
over  the  plumage  of  their  helmets.  ^ 

It  was  not  only  a gallant,  but  a fearful  sight,  — that  one 
hundred  should  be  willing,  for  mere  sport,  to  risk  life  and  limb 


166 


MAUDE  AND  3fIRIAM. 


in  mortal  combat.  Who  can  tell  the  heart-throbs  in  that  gaj 
concourse  waiting  in  the  galleries,  as  mothers,  sisters,  young 
maidens,  saw  among  that  gallant  company  those  so  dearly 
loved,  whose  hands  they  might  never  clasp  again  until  cold 
m death.  Ah  ! one  quick  bound  of  those  throbbing  hearts ; 
for  there  is  the  dread  sound  of  Hubert  Evelyn’s  voice 
shouting,  in  tones  of  thunder,  “ Laissez- aller  I ” The 
trumpets  gave  a shrill,  fierce  call : spears  were  placed  in 
their  rests ; spurs  plunged  into  the  flanks  of  the  steeds  ; and, 
with  the  s|)eed  of  lightning,  out  rushed  the  two  foremost 
ranks,  meeting  in  the  centre  with  a shock  of  clanging  armor 
that  was  heard  for  a mile  distant.  For  a moment  the  result 
was  unknown,  for  the  cloud  of  dust  completely  bewildered 
the  spectators;  but  it  is  all  revealed  now, — half  of  the 
knights  were  dismounted;  some  by  the  powerful  lance ; some 
by  the  weight  which  had  broken  down  both  man  and  horse ; 
some  lay  stretched  upon  the  ground  as  though  never  to  rise 
again ; others  had  gained  their  feet,  and  were  closing  hand 
to  hand ; some  that  had  been  wounded  were  stopping  the 
bh,od  by  their  scarfs,  trying  to  extricate  themselves  from 
the  confusion,  their  squires  dragging  them  out  of  the  press. 
The  clanging  of  armor,  the  neighing  of  steeds,  the  fierce 
battle-cries  of  the  combatants  were  fearful,  as  the  conflict 
waged  hotter  and  fiercer.  The  second  file  then  advanced, 
the  followers  of  Sir  Bryan  shouting,  ‘‘Ha!  Beauseant!” 
“for  St.  John  I for  St.John  ! ” the  opposite  party  shouting 
Sir  Guy’s  watchword  on  his  shield,  “Jerusalem  and  the 
Holy  Cross ! ” The  combat  now  raged  with  redoubled  fury, 
success  alternating  first  to  the  northern,  then  to  the  southern 


MAUDE  AND  I R I A M. 


157 


extremity  of  the  lists.  FearfulVas  the  conflict  now : the  clang 
of  the  heavy  blows,  the  blasts  of  the  trumpets,  the  groans 
of  the  wounded,  who  lay  helpless  beneath  the  feet  of  the 
horses,  and  even  the  cries  of  the  ladies,  exclaiming,  “Brave 
lance!”  “Good  sword!”  when  a successful  blow  was  given, 
imparted  to  the  whole  scene  an  aspect  of  the  fierce  barbarism 
of  these  feudal  days,  even  though  restrained  by  the  laws  of 
chivalry.  But  Maude  is  leaning  forward  in  breathless  sus- 
pense, for  a cry  goes  up  from  many  voices,  “Beware!  be 
ware ! Sir  Guy  ! ” 

He  is  fighting  hand  to  hand  with  the  gigantic  arm  of  Sir 
Bryan  de  Bourg ; his  own  dexterity,  and  the  wonderful 
strength  and  activity  of  his  horse,  making  him  an  equal 
match  for  the  brave  crusader. 

But  the  day  is  doubtful,  for  he  is  beset  on  the  other  side 
by  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy ; the  quick  and  powerful  blows  of 
the  two  antagonists  telling  upon  the  young  knight  with  fear- 
ful power,  for  he  is  reeling  in  his  saddle. 

Maude  and  Alice  de  Mowbray  are  seated  together,  with 
blanched  cheeks  and  distended  eyes,  watching  the  conflict, 
the  former  calling  upon  the  blessed  Saviour,  the  latter  upon 
the  calendar  of  the  saints,  while  Blanche  de  Lacy  is  stop- 
ping her  ears,  and  covering  her  face  in  silent  anguish. 

“ To  the  rescue ! to  the  rescue ! ” shouts  Lancelot  de  Vere, 
and  joined  by  two  brave  knights,  they  are  dealing  heavy 
olows  upon  the  assailants.  Lancelot  has  lost  neither  lance 
nor  sword ; with  great  activity  and  force,  he  deals  a blow 
fn.m  behind,  seconded  by  his  companion,  up^n  the  s.Wv>rd  of 
Sir  Bryan,  which  sends  it  flying  from  his  hand ; he  has 
14 


m 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


already  lost  his  lance,  and  nothing  remains  now  but  hii 
battle-axe.  Seeing  the  situation  of  the  brave  young  knight^ 
several  more  joined  the  fight ; some,  however,  for  Sir  Bryan 
as  well  as  for  Sir  Guy,  and  the  cries  are  shouted  by  the 
heralds,  Fight  on,  brave  knights  ! ” “ Man  dies,  but  glory 

lives!  Fight  on,  death  is  better  than  defeat!  Fight  on, 
brave  knights,  for  briglit  eyes  behold  your  deeds ! ” 

Both  parties  display  great  bravery,  and  the  multitudes 
watch  the  conflict  with  breathless  interest.  Lancelot  is  ever 
between  his  brother-in-arms  and  his  foe,  doing  deeds  of  won- 
der, and  Guy  is  laying  heavy  blows  about  him  upon  both 
of  his  antagonists.  Aiming  at  Sir  Bryan’s  helmet,  he  deals 
the  blow  which,  followed  by  another  from  T^ancelot,  stunned 
the  strong  crusader,  and,  reeling  in  his  saddle,  he  fell  be- 
neath his  horse’s  feet.  Guy  saw  the  defeat,  and  calling  to 
his  own  squire,  he  said : 

‘‘  Draw  the  brave  knight  away  quickly.” 

At  that  moment,  a skilful  blow  from  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy 
laid  Sir  Lancelot  low,  blood  gushing  from  a wound  in  the 
side ; and  the  king,  anxious  to  save  further  bloodshed,  threw 
down  his  warder,  and  put  an  end  to  the  conflict. 

Thus  ended  the  memorable  field  of  RavenscliflT,  — one  of 
the  most  gallantly  contested  of  the  age ; for  although  but 
three  knights  died  upon  the  field  (one  smothered  by  the 
heal  of  his  armor),  yet  more  than  twenty  were  desperately 
wounded ; four  or  five  of  whom  never  recovered.  Several 
were  disabled  for  life,  and  those  who  escaped  best,  carried 
the  marks  of  the  conflict  to  the  grave  with  them. 

The  king,  without  hesitation,  named  Sir  Guy  de  Mow- 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


169 


bray  as  victor  of  the  field;  and  through  a field  slippery  with 
blood,  and  covered  with  broken  armor  and  the  bodies  of 
slain  and  wounded  liorses,  the  marshals  conducted  the  young 
knight  to  the  foot  of  King  Richard’s  throne. 

“ Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray,  we  a second  time  award  to  thee 
the  honors  of  the  tournament ; we  award  to  thee  the  right 
to  claim  and  receive  from  the  hands  of  the  Queen  of  Love 
and  Beauty  the  chaplet  so  richly  merited  by  deeds  of 
knightly  valor.” 

Sir  Guy  bowed  low,  murmuring  a few  modest  wor^s ; and 
while  the  trumpets  sounded,  and  the  heralds  proclaimed 
honor  to  the  brave,  while  ladies  waved  their  silken  ker- 
chiefs and  embroidered  veils,  the  marshals  conducted  Sir 
Guy  across  the  lists  to  the  foot  of  the  throne  occupied  by 
the  youthful  queen  of  the  day. 

The  victor  knelt  upon  the  lowest  step  of  the  throne,  his 
helmet  in  the  marshal’s  hand ; and  the  Lady  Maude,  de- 
scending from  her  station  with  a dignified  step,  placed  the 
chaplet  upon  his  head,  saying : 

“ I bestow  upon  thee  this  chaplet,  sir  knight,  as  the  meed 
of  valor  assigned  to  this  day’s  conqueror ; ” pausing  a mo- 
ment, and  then  adding,  in  a lower  tone : “ and  upon  brows 
more  worthy  could  a wreath  of  chivalry  never  be  placed.” 

Sir  Guy  stooped  his  head,  and  kissed  the  hand  of  the 
ovely  sovereign  by  whom  he  had  been  rewarded. 

But  let  us  pay  a visit  to  the  brave  young  knight  lying 
wounded  in  his  father’s  pavilion. 

“Art  badly  hurt?”  said  Sir  Guy,  as  he  clasped  the  hand 
of  his  brother-in-arms 


160 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


“ Naught  but  a scratch/’  replied  the  wounded  mau  ; **  and 
that  be  well  borne  for  thee,  Guy.” 

“A  mere  fiesh-^ound,”  said  the  leech,  as  Guy  turned  an 
anxious  glance  upon  his  face. 

I trow  that  thou  art  the  crowned  knight,  Guy,”  said  his 
friend;  “for  no  more  valiant  arm  wielded  the  sword  and 
lance  on  the  field  of  Ravensclilf.” 

“ It  were  hard  to  say,  Lancelot,  were  I the  judge;  but  so 
the  king  hath  ordered.” 

King  Richard  held  his  high  festival  at  a castle  in  the 
neighborhood,  belonging  to  a nobleman  absent  in  the  Holy 
Land.  Anxious  to  dazzle  men’s  eyes  by  his  magnificence 
and  generosity,  he  had  given  large  orders,  and,  with  the  full 
authority  of  royalty,  his  purveyors  had  swept  the  country 
of  all  that  could  be  desired  for  so  grand  an  entertainment. 
Guests  were  invited  in  great  numbers ; and  especially 
anxious  to  seek  popularity  at  this  time,  he  had  extended 
his  invitations  to  many  of  the  gentry  iia  well  as  the  nobility. 

The  tables  groaned  with  good  cheer ; the  cooks  having 
exerted  all  their  art  in  varying  the  dishes.  Delicacies  were 
brought  from  foreign  parts,  and  a quantity  of  rich  pastry, 
as  well  as  simnel  bread, and  wastle  cakes,  used  only  at  the 
tables  of  the  nobles.  The  banquet  was  crowned,  too,  with 
the  richest  wines,  both  foreign  and  domestic. 

The  long  feast  at  length  had  its  end ; and  while  the  gob- 
let circulated  freely,  and  martial  music  gave  zest  to  the 
feast,  the  king  had  not  forgotten  the  great  object  which  had 
been  the  moving  motive  in  all  this  gathering  of  the  p©)ple 
of  his  kingdom. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


161 


The  marshal  gave  notice  that  the  king  was  about  to 
speak,  and  silence  pervaded  the  banqueting-hall. 

“ Truly  this  is  a gallant  company,”  «aid  the  king,  as  he 
glanced  down  over  the  retinue  of  brave  knights  in  Uieir 
heavy  armor.  ‘‘Why  tarry  so  many  at  home,  when  the 
call  from  Palestine  summoneth  the  faithful  from  all  Europe 
to  avenge  the  cause  of  our  slaughtered  brethren,  and  to  re- 
deem the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  the  hands  of  infidels  ? It  is 
our  sworn  intention  to  march  on  a crusade  in  the  winter 
Who  joineth  the  army  of  the  Lord  ? ” 

Not  a right  hand  was  wanting  in  the  audience ; for  all 
were  raised  to  heaven  in  token  of  the  solemn  vow  to  follow 
the  king,  the  crusader’s  battle-cry  bursting  from  every  lip : 
“ It  is  the  will  of  God.” 

“ Money  and  men  be  needed  in  large  supplies,”  continued 
the  king. 

“ There  be  no  lack  of  either  throughout  England,”  said 
Sir  Amelot  de  Kussy. 

The  greatest  enthusiasm  prevailed,  and  the  lion-hearted 
king  had  reason  to  rejoice  in  the  success  of  his  present  enter- 
prise, for  men  of  all  grades  were  ready  to  rush  into  the 
ranks  that  were  preparing  for  the  third  crusade. 

“ The  spirit  of  the  crusader  is  fully  awake,”  said  the  king 
to  De  Vere.  “And  now  we  summon  all  England  to  the 
expedition,  we  count  largely  upon  the  Baron  of  Kavens- 
cliflr.” 

“Thou  mayest  be  sure,  my  liege,  of  loyal  service;  but 
ere  our  departure,  I see  thee  at  London.” 

“ Thou  art  welcome  at  our  palace,  De  Vere.  And  the  twin 

14*  L 


162 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


queens  of  beauty  come  in  thy  train,  I trow  they  would 
create  a stir  at  court,  fot  no  such  loveliness  have  we  among 
Queen  Eleanor’s  court  ladies.  ' 

The  Lady  Eveline  blushed  at  the  compliment,  and  look- 
ing eagerly  toward  the  baron,  she  said : 

“Thou  sayest  not  nay,  good  father,  I ween.” 

But  Maude,  less  eager  for  court  gayeties,  replied : 

“ I cry  thee  mercy,  my  liege,  for  the  glitter  of  a court 
hath  no  attractions  to  tempt  me  from  old  Ravenscliff.” 

Sir  Walter  de  Courtenay,  one  of  the  retinue  in  the  train 
of  the  king,  stood  near  his  royal  master,  and,  regarding  the 
Lady  Eveline  with  looks  of  admiration,  joined  his  desires 
tv  those  expressed  by  the  royal  visitor. 

“ Thou  wilt  not  say  me  nay,  fair  lady,  for  there  is  much 
to  draw  a young  demoiselle  to  the  palace;  and  Queen  Eleanor 
maketh  thee  welcome.” 

The  royal  party  have  departed  — the  king  to  make  vigor- 
ous preparations  for  the  expedition,  and  the  Baron  of  Ravens- 
clilf  to  fulfil  his  solemn  vow.  The  excitement  of  the  tourna- 
ment at  an  end,  Maude  was  glad  to  return  to  her  quiet 
employments  and  her  lonely  turret. 

A cool  September  morning  finds  Maude  in  her  sanctum 
of  holy  rest.  The  gentle  breeze  is  fanning  her  brow, 
as  it  steals  in  through  the  open  casement ; and  the  red 
fitork  is  singing  still  his  joyful  carol  in  the  nest  built  in 
the  wall-flower,  for  it  is  too  soon  yet  to  leave  his  northern 
home. 

Maude  has  another  treasure  now  of  old  Latin  hymns, 
which  the  monk  has  lent  to  his  favorite, — Ambrose  and 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


163 


Pruderitius,  John  of  Damascus,  St.  Bernard,  and  Bernard 
of  Cluny,  all  singing  to  her  in  the  sweet  language  of  the 
original. 

The  scenes  through  which  she  had  so  lately  passed  had 
sorely  disturbed  the  serenity  of  her  spirit,  for  flashing  armor 
and  the  heat  of  barbarous  warfare  suited  not  the  tone  of  a 
mind  that  held  daily  communion  with  the  Saviour;  and 
conscious  of  a sense  of  weariness,  the  sweet  hymn  that  fob 
iows  tranquillized  her  hour  of  retirement ; 

“ Art  thou  weary,  art  thou  languid, 

Art  thou  sore  distrest? 

‘ Come  to  me,’  saith  One,  ‘ and,  coming, 

Be  at  rest.’ 

“Hath  He  marks  to  lead  me  to  Him, 

If  He  be  my  Guide  ? 

‘In  His  feet  and  hands  are  wound-prints. 

And  His  side.’ 

“Is  there  diadem,  as  monarch, 

That  His  brow  adorns? 

‘Yea,  a crown  in  very  surety. 

But  of  thorns  ! ’ 

“If  I find  Him,  if  I follow, 

What  His  guerdon  here  ? ^ 

‘ Many  a sorrow,  many  a labor, 

Many  a tear  I ’ 

If  I still  hold  closely  to  Him, 

What  hath  He  at  last? 

Sorrow  vanquished,  labor  ended, 

Jordan  pasu  * 


164 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“If  I ask  Him  to  receive  me. 

Will  He  say  me  Nay? 

‘Not  till  earthy  and  not  till  heaven 
Pass  away  I ’ 

“ Finding,  following,  keeping,  struggling, 

Is  He  sure  to  bless? 

‘ Angels,  martyrs,  prophets,  virgins, 

Answer,  Yes  ! ’ ” 

And  so  Stephen  the  Sybarite,  nearly  four  hundred  years 
before,  had  sung  the  hymn  which  now  found  its  answer  in 
the  heart  of  Maude  de  V ere ; so  much  of  oneness  is  there 
in  the  inner  life  of  all  God’s  saints  in  every  age.  How 
very  precious  are  the  words  of  the  dear  Lord  to-day ! 

It  is  true  that  Maude  had  borne  her  part  in  the  tourna- 
ment,— for  the  customs  of  the  times  had  sanctioned  them  for 
many  years. — but  her  real  self  had  so  little  to  do  with  those 
anti-Christian  sports,  that  while  the  young  demoiselles  below 
were  rehearsing  daily  the  incidents  connected  with  the  royal 
visit,  Maude  had  well-nigh  forgotten  that  she  had  been  the 
Queen  of  Love  and  Beauty,  the  envied  of  many  a young 
as}»irant. 

There  is  a knock  at  the  door,  and  Wilfred  d’Arcy  pre- 
sents himself 

‘"Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray  sendeth  me  with  his  devoirs,  and 
a message  to  the  Lady  Maude,  and  craveth  a hearing  to- 
night in  the  chapei  at  ten  o’clock.  What  answer  bear  I in 
return  ? ” 

“ Tell  him  that  I will  be  there,  good  Wilfred ; and  thou 
wilt  attend  me  at  that  hour.” 


MAUI>E  AND  MIRIAM. 


166 


Accordingly,  at  the  appointed  hour,  we  find  Maude  in 
the  chapel ; Guy  already  there,  who  advanced  to  meet  the 
young  lady,  leading  her  to  a seat  near  the  altar,  while  Wil- 
fred tarried  at  the  door. 

Wilt  thou  be  seated  a moment,  Maude,’’  said  the  young 
knight ; ‘‘  for  I have  much  to  say  to  thee  ere  I seek  the 
Holy  Land?  I trow  that  it  may  be  many  a long  year  ere 
we  clasp  hands  again,  Maude.” 

**  Art  really  going,  Guy  ? But  why  this  secrecy  ? ” 

“My  father,  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth,  forbiddeth  inter- 
course between  the  two  households.  Syth  the  tournament, 
his  anger  be  redoubled  ; and  he  charge th  trespasses  on  the 
hunting-grounds  of  Hawksworth  by  the  retainers  of  Ravens- 
cliff.  W ere  it  not  for  the  present  stir  about  ,the  crusades,  I 
trow  that  thou  wouldst  have  sore  distress  at  Ravenscliff ; for 
it  lacketh  no  further  cause  of  strife  to  array  the  two  barons 
against  each  other  as  mortal  foes.” 

“We  be  glad  then,  Guy,  that  the  crusades  calleth  off  the 
thoughts  from  such  warfare.” 

“ I am  pledged  to  the  king  on  his  setting  sail,  as  also  is 
Lancelot,  an’  he  be  well  enow ; for  we  be  his  chosen  knights 
to  .attend  upon  his  own  royal  person  ; and  I come  now  to  say 
farewell.” 

Between  the  windows,  over  the  altar,  there  was  a picture 
of  the  Virgin  Mother,  on  which  the  moon  was  shining ; and 
Guy,  turning  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  said : 

“ I./ook,  Maude ! doth  not  the  Holy  Mother  seem  to 
smile  upon  us?  I trow  that  our  holy  work  pleaseth  her 
well  I ” 


166 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


I would  rather  have  the  smiles  of  Jesus,  Guy.  An’  thou 
mayst  have  them  an’  thou  askest  the  Lord.” 

Wilt  pray  for  me,  Maude,  when  I am  far  away  ? for  thy 
prayers,  sweet  saint,  I trow,  availeth  much  in  heaven.” 
“Thou  mayst  be  sure  of  my  poor  servic^e,  Guy.  Thou  wilt 
not  forget  me  in  the  distant  land?  See!  here  is  my  scarf. 
Wilt  wear  it,  Guy  ? ” 

Taking  off  her  blue  scarf,  she  bound  it  over  the  shoulder 
of  the  knight,  who  replied : 

“ That  inspireth  me  to  deeds  of  valor,  Maude.” 

“ I have  something  yet  more  precious,  Guy,  and  thou  must 
take  it  with  thee  to  the  Holy  Land.”  Taking  the  small  manu- 
script from  her  pocket,  she  handed  it  to  her  companion, 
and  said : 

“Kneel,  Guy,  while  we  ask  God’s  blessing  on  his  own 
precious  Gospel.” 

Side  by  side  they  knelt  before  the  altar,  and  Maude,  in 
solemn  tones,  uttered  her  simple  words  of  prayer. 

“ Go  with  this  blessed  Gospel ; for  it  is  thine,  dear  Lord. 
May  the  Spirit  of  all  truth  take  its  holy  words,  and  make 
them  a light  to  the  path  of  the  pilgrim  who  goeth  forth  to 
lioly  warfare  in  thy  service.  Lord.  Defend  thy  young  ser- 
rant,  and  bring  him  at  last  home  to  the  paradise  above.” 
They  arose  deeply  solemnized ; and  Maude  continued : 
“Thou  carriest  this  Gospel,  Guy,  under  thy  coat  of  mail. 
Read  it  daily,  and  mayst  thou  love  its  precious  words  be- 
cause they  be  our  Lord’s.  It  is  the  first  that  I give  away ; 
for  it  be  my  own  writing ; and  now  I see  the  fruit  .of  my 
labor.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


167 


“I  will  never  part  with  it,  Maude,  an’  it  be  only  for  thy 
«ake.  But  how  fareth  thy  brother  Lancelot  ? ” 

**  Better,  Guy,  but  weak  from  the  loss  of  blood ; more  se^ 
verely  wounded  than  he  chose  to  tell  thee.  Thou  wilt  be 
faithful  to  him,  Guy,  and  send  tidings  an’  thou  canst  of  thy 
welfare.” 

**  Now,  farewell,  my  own  dear  Maude.  I must  not  detain 
thee  longer,  for  this  chapel  is  very  cold.” 

They  clasped  hands  before  the  altar ; and  Maude,  with 
streaming  eyes,  said,  in  low,  soft  tones ; 

“I  ever  thought  that  it  would  be  so.  Farewell  1 fare- 
well ! and  may  God  forever  bless  thee ! ” 

Throwing  his  arm  around  the  waist  of  the  young  damse^, 
Maude’s  head  drooped  upon  his  shoulder,  and,  pressing  his 
lips  fondly  upon  the  fair  brow,  he  whispered : 

“ Farewell,  sweet  one ! and  may  the  blessed  Virgin,  and 
all  the  saints,  protect  thee ! ” 

Guy  watched  her  departing  figure  as  she  walked  slowly 
down  the  aisle,  and  joined  Wilfred  at  the  door.  Guy  then 
hastened  his  departure  from  Hawksworth. 

Maude  had  no  concealments  from  her  mother,  and  next 
day  communicated  the  news  of  Guy’s  departure  and  the 
painful  knowledge  of  his  father’s  increasing  enmity.  Ihe 
Lady  Jaqueline  had  long  been  conscious  of  the  fact,  and  re- 
garded the  approaching  crusade  as  a blessing,  — turning  the 
thoughts  of  the  grim  baron  in  another  channel, — for  the  evil 
eye  at  Hawksworth  had  followed  the  family  for  many  years. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  MASS. 

T ANCELOT  is  still  confined  to  his  couch,  although 
mending  rapidly ; and  Maude  is  a daily  visitor.  The 
confinement  is  galling  to  a spirit  like  his,  and  his  sister^s 
ministry  is  peculiarly  soothing. 

“ Hast  brought  thy  cithern,  Maude  ? ” said  the  brother, 
smiling.  ‘‘  I see  thou  hast  thy  book,  too.” 

“ I have  just  learned  one  of  St.  Bernardos  sweet  hymns, 
Lancelot.  Shall  I sing  it  ? ” 

‘‘  Thy  voice  is  ever  soothing,  Maude ; ” and,  closing  his 
eyes,  Lancelot  composed  himself  for  listening. 

“0  Jesul  Thou  the  beauty  art 
Of  angel  worlds  above  ; 

Thy  name  is  music  to  the  heart, 

Enlightening  it  with  love. 

“ 0 my  sweet  Jesu  I hear  the  sighs 
Which  unto  Thee  I send; 

To  Thee  mine  inmost  spirit  cries, 

My  being’s  hope  and  end. 


1S8 


MAflDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


109 


“Stay  with  us,  Lord,  and  with  Thy  light 
Illume  the  soul’s  abyss ; 

Scatter  the  darkness  of  our  night, 

And  fill  the  world  with  bliss. 

“O  Jesul  spotless  virgin-flower! 

Our  love  and  joy ! to  Thee 
Be  praise,  beatitude,  and  power 
Through  all  eternity.’’ 

‘ Very  sweet,  sister  mine  1 ” said  the  invalid ; “ but  it 
rnijmeth  a strangely  familiar  way  of  worshipping  our 
\jordr 

“Thou  wouldst  not  think  so,  Lancelot,  an’  thou  readest 
the  holy  Gospel ; for  there  be  naught  but  words  which 
bringeth  us  very  close  to  the  dear  Lord.  Let  me  read  a 
few.” 

Running  her  eyes  hastily  over  the  text,  she  said,  as  though 
speaking  to  herself : 

“Here  be  miracles  of  power,  but  all  full  of  love  and 
mercy.  Here  is  the  blessed  talk  with  Nicodemus,  so  full 
of  the  love  of  God,  his  precious  teaching  about  himself; 
then  the  resurrection  comfort ; then  the  chapter  about  the 
heavenly  food,  that  bread  from  heaven.  Such  goodness ! 
Buch  mercy!  such  love!  Where  shall  I commence?” 

“ Take  thy  choice,  Maude ; the  Lord’s  words  must  all  be 
good,  I trow.” 

“ Listen,  Lancelot ! * I am  the  true  vine,  and  my  Father 

IS  the  husbandman. 

“ ‘I  am  the  vine,  ye  are  the  branches.  He  that  abideth 

16 


170 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


in  me,  and  I in  him,  the  same  bringeth  forth  much  fruit ; 
for  without  me  ye  can  do  nothing/ 

‘‘Thou  knowest  how  the  branches  be  nourished  V the 
vine,  Lancelot,’^  continued  his  sister ; “ but  they  must  be 
united  to  it  to  get  the  benefit.  Canst  think  how  we  be  nour- 
ished by  the  Lord  ? ” 

“ We  must  be  in  him,  I trow,  by  being  a part  of  his  body 
the  Church.’’ 

“ There  seemeth  something  more  than  that,  Lancelot ; for 
Judas  belongeth  to  the  Church,  and,  certes!  he  was  no 
branch  of  the  true  vine.” 

“ How  know  we  then,  Maude,  an’  we  are  in  the  true 
vine?” 

“ By  the  Spirit  which  he  giveth  us,  Lancelot.  Father 
Ambrose  telleth  us  that  by  holy  baptism  we  be  made  mem- 
bers of  Christ ; but  how  can  we  believe  that  the  wicked  peo- 
ple all  around  us  are  members  of  the  true  vine,  when  they 
bring  forth  no  holy  fruits  ? ” 

“Doth  not  the  Gospel  teach  as  Father  Ambrose, 
Maude?” 

“ I trow  not ; for  not  a word  about  praying  to  the  saints 
and  doing  penance  do  we  see  in  all  the  blessed  book.  I 
trow,  Lancelot,  when  the  blessed  Lord  hung  upon  Calvary, 
he  did  all  the  work  of  our  salvation,  and  that  when  he  said 
‘ It  is  finished ! ’ he  meaneth  more  than  giving  up  the 
ghost.” 

“ Thou  icarnest  much  from  the  blessed  Gospel,  Maude.” 

“ Wouldbt  read  the  booJi  an’  I leave  it  with  thee,  Lance- 
lot? Thou  wilt  be  a soldier  of  the  cross,  I trow;  and  when 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


171 


thou  art  far  away,  the  holy  Gospel  comforteth  and  blesseth 
thee,  Lancelot.” 

“ Thou  be  a holy  saint,  Maude ; and  I promise  thee  to 
read  the  holy  book.” 

‘'That  is  the  second  that  I have  given:  who  knoweth  what 
the  good  seed  bringeth  forth  ? ” 

And  so  another  copy  of  the  blessed  Gospel  was  laid  by 
Maude  in  the  hands  of  one  shejoved. 

The  trumpets  of  the  tournament  are  echoing  still  through 
all  classes,  and  multitudes  are  meditating  upon  the  new 
crusade.  The  lion-hearted  king,  with  all  the  impetuosity 
of  his  nature,  is  stirring  up  the  kingdom,  and  making  vigor- 
ous efforts  to  raise  the  funds  necessary  for  such  an  expedi- 
tion. In  the  meanwhile,  the  news  of  the  calamity  at  Kome 
had  reached  England ; for  in  three  days  after  Pope  Urban 
heard  of  the  fall  of  Jerusalem,  crushed  by  a broken  heart, 
his  remains  were  deposited  in  the  church  at  Ferrara,  and 
a new  pope  immediately  elected. 

Determined  not  to  abandon  the  sacred  cause,  the  new 
pope  appointed  the  Archbishop  of  Tyre  to  visit  France, 
Germany,  and  England,  for  the  purpose  of  rousing  up  the 
people,  and  sending  out  a third  crusade ; and  the  King  of 
England  has  appointed  the  mitred  Abbey  of  St.  Hilary  as 
a fitting  place  foi  meeting. 

The  refectory  of  the  abbey  was  prepared  for  the  solemn 
audieUve;  and  seldom  had  a more  magnificent  array  of 
kingly  glory  been  displayed.  Gorgeous  tapestry  hung  from 
the  walls,  hiding  the  rare  beauty  of  the  vaulting  shafts  in  a 
blaze  of  lustre.  At  the  upper  end,  beneath  a canopy,  sat 


172 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


King  Kichard,  in  his  royal  robes ; the  crown  on  his  head, 
the  sceptre  in  his  hand.  On  his  left,  a vacant  place  was 
served  for  the  archbishop,  around  which  clustered  the  earls, 
barons,  and  knights.  The  princesses  and  ladies  of  the  court 
occupied  seats  on  the  right.  The  high-roofed  building  glit- 
tered with  a hundred  wax  lights,  and  two  metallic  crowns, 
suspended  from  the  ridge-beam,  carried  each  forty  tapers, 
shedding  a flood  of  brilliancy  over  the  knightly  armor  ' md 
the  sparkling  jewels  of  the  ladies. 

Knightly  hearts  beat  high  in  the  prospect  of  a third  jru- 
sade.  Bright  eyes  looked  their  warm  approval,  and  sweet 
voices  were  ready  to  bid  them  God  speed. 

In  this  objective  age,  when  the  worship  of  the  Christian 
Church  was  so  highly  sensuous,  such  an  occasion  seemed 
the  very  season  for  exhibitions  of  the  greatest  self-sacrifice. 
Accordingly,  in  that  crowded  assembly  were  many  hearts 
ready  for  any  deed  of  heroic  valor,  if  by  this  they  could 
hope  to  relieve  the  exiles  in  the  Holy  Land,  who  were  giv- 
ing away  their  lives  in  their  zeal  for  what  was  deemed  the 
highest  act  of  Christian  devotion.  Among  these  knights, 
none  were  more  deeply  imbued  with  religious  fervor  than 
the  Baron  of  Kavensclifl*,  nor  among  the  Norman  ladies 
were  any  more  saintly  than  the  Lady  Maude.  It  re- 
mained for  a future  age,  when,  after  the  Keformation,  a 
subjective  era  of  piety  dawned  upon  the  world,  to  aflerd  ob- 
jects upon  which  to  expend  Christian  energy.  Then  amidst 
the  explosion  of  the  old  superstitions,  the  effete  mum- 
meries of  Romanism  burnt  out,  and  ^Uhe  just  shall  live  by 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


173 


taith  glitte.*ed  like  stars  of  glory  in  the  Christian  firma- 
ment,— then  dawned  the  age  of  active  piety. 

The  door  at  the  lower  end  opened,  and,  introduced  by  the 
lord  abbot,  the  Archbishop  of  Tyre  entered.  His  face  was 
sad ; for  at  home  he  had  seen  the  dissensions  of  the  cru- 
saders and  the  defeat  of  the  holy  cause.  Throughout  Eu- 
rope, he  had  met  with  naught  but  discouragement ; and  his 
hopes  were  now  all  centred  in  the  lion-hearted  King  of 
England. 

Joselyn  de  Vallier,  the  Master  of  the  Hospitallers,  followed, 
clad  from  head  to  foot  in  a coat  of  scaled  mail,  the  picture 
of  a soldier  monk.  Then  followed  two  hospitallers  and  two 
templars,  bearing  respectively  the  banner  of  the  kingdom, 
the  keys  of  the  sepulchre,  those  of  the  tower  of  David,  and 
of  the  Holy  City. 

Amid  profound  silence,  the  archbishop  and  De  Vallier 
stepped  forward,  and,  after  making  due  obeisance,  the  former 
spoke : 

‘‘  Behold,  0 great  king ! the  banner  and  the  keys  of  Jeru- 
salem, which  we  lay  at  your  feet.  The  holy  city  hath  fallen, 
— the  city  that  for  eighty-eight  years  was  under  Christian 
rule  is  now  under  the  foot  of  Saladin.  Blood  hath  flowed 
like  oceans,  our  great  princes  have  fallen,  our  people  are 
exiles,  and  the  holy  places  are  polluted  by  the  tread  of 
infidels. 

“ I witnessed  the  marching  out  of  the  long  procession  ; the 
weeping  queen  in  her  litter,  followed  bv  seculars  and  reli- 
gious orders.  Then  came  knights  and  men-at-arms ; then 
burgesses,  wUh  their  families;  then  the  poor  and  destitute, 
16* 


174 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


and,  lastly,  a strong  body  of  Christian  cavalry  to  protect  the 
rear  from  insult. 

“Then  I heard  the  shouts  of  the  infidels  ringing  from 
Mount  Calvary  to  the  Mount  of  Olives.  I can  never  forget 
the  terrible  cry.  Saladin  entered  first,  followed  by  thou- 
sands, sounding  still  the  same  taunting  shouts.  Hammer 
and  axe  were  busy;  ladders  were  planted  against  the 
churches;  bells  cracked  beneath  the  thundering  sledge; 
crosses  tottered  and  fell ; altars  were  shattered  and  defaced ; 
pictures  and  images  trampled  on  the  ground.  Twenty  men 
scaled  the  temple,  — a cable  being  fixed  to  the  great  cross  of 
gilt  copper  that  surmounted  its  dome.  Some  struck  at  it 
with  maces ; some  tried  to  wrench  it  with  levers ; some 
pulled  from  below,  while  hundreds  stood  by  to  shout  and 
cheer.  It  resisted  the  ungodly  assault  for  a long  time.  At 
length,  with  a tremendous  eflfort,  it  was  heaved  oflP,  and 
thundering  down  from  its  height  crashed  in  the  street 
below. 

“Its  fate  afterward  was  still  more  terrible;  for  it  was 
sent  as  a trophy  to  the  Sultan  of  Bagdad,  who,  overjoyed, 
proclaimed  a public  holiday.  Then  the  holy  cross  was 
dragged  through  the  streets  of  the  city,  covered  with  filth, 
trampled  on  and  spurned,  and  at  length  thrown  into  the 
place  where  the  sewers  discharged  themselves. 

“ These,  great  king,  are  the  horrors  that  I have  seen.  I 
have  appealed  to  Christendom  ; still  no  assistance  comes.  It 
is  true  that  we  are  justly  punished  for  our  sins ; but  this  per- 
taineth  to  God,  not  man,  to  punish  us.  If  from  God  we 
hope  for  remission,  surely  from  man  we  may  expect  assist- 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


176 


ance.  We  have  gone  from  noble  to  noble,  from  court  to 
court ; we-  have  wept  and  prayed ; we  have  besought  and 
implored ; and  now,  as  our  last  resource,  we  turn,  O mighty 
king ! unto  thee.  From  his  Holiness  we  come  furnished  with 
indulgences.  They  that  in  penitence  take  the  cross  are  at 
once  absolved  from  their  sins.  They  are  dispensed  from  the 
obligation  of  fasting,  and  other  penal  works.  His  Holiness 
chargeth  himself  with  the  care  of  their  families  and  effects ; 
and,  dying  in  Holy  Land,  they  shall,  if  they  continue  in 
the  same  condition  of  soul,  go  at  once  into  Paradise.  In 
the  name,  then,  of  all  those  who  have  fallen  in  defence  of 
that  blessed  religion  for  which  we  still  fight,  — in  the  name 
of  those  glorioles  saints  who,  from  time  to  time,  have  so 
manifestly  battled  for  us,  — for  Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  of 
saintly  memory,  hath  been  seen  by  many  of  the  crusaders, 
— above  all,  in  Hismame,  who  there  conversed  with  men; 
who  there,  by  the  space  of  thirty-three  years  and  upward, 
left  us  our  example ; who  there  accomplished  the  salvation 
of  man  by  His  most  precious  death  and  passion,  and  who 
there  ascended  into  the  kingdom  of  Heaven, — I beseech 
your  gracious  majesty  to  take  the  vow  of  serving  in  person 
in  the  Holy  Land.” 

“ We  have  already,  holy  father,”  replied  the  king,  ‘‘  taken 
advice  with  our  council  in  this  matter.  For  ourselves,  our 
whole  heart  is  in  this  enterprise,  and  we  gladly  offer  our 
life,  our  money,  and  our  army  for  the  holy  cause  of  warring 
against  accursed  Paynimrie.  We  shall  summon  a great 
council  of  lords,  to  be  hoi  den  at  We&tminster,  on  St.  Michael 
and  All  Angels’  day,  when  this  matter  shall  be  finally  dis- 


176 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


cussed.  We  not  only  give  license  to  such  of  our  subjects  a« 
shall  be  willing  to  take  the  cross,  and  furnish  them  with  all 
arms  and  necessaries,  for  the  voyage,  and  money  for  their 
sustenance  as  long  as  they  serve  in  Holy  Land,  but  we 
head  the  army  in  our  own  person,  God  and  St  George  being 
our  helpers.” 

“Now  God  be  praised  ! ” said  the  bishop,  tears  of  joy  fill- 
ing his  eyes.  “ These  are  the  only  words  of  hearty  good- 
will syth  I left  Palestine.  God  and  the  holy  saints  bless 
and  keep  you,  Eichard  Plantagenet,  mighty  King  of  Eng- 
land.” 

Then  stepping  forward,  the  king  said  in  brave,  clear 
tones : 

“ Holy  father,  I will  make  my  vow  in  your  hands.” 

“ Kneel  down,  my  liege,”  said  the  bishop,  taking  his  seat 
in  the  chair  prepared  for  him,  and  in  the  midst  of  that 
august  assembly  the  king,  kneeling,  said : 

“ I,  Eichard  Plantagenet,  King  of  England,  knight,  do, 
for  the  love  of  God,  and  the  remission  of  my  sins,  promise 
and  vow,  in  the  sight  of  the  Holy  Trinity,  the  most  blessed 
Virgin  Mary,  the  holy  apostles  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  St. 
Michael  the  archangel,  and  all  saints,  service  in  the  Holy 
Land  in  our  own  person  for  the  length  of  the  crusade. 
And  we  further  promise  and  vow,  as  aforesaid,  and  for  the 
afore  sacred  ends,  to  maintain  an  army  fully  equipped,  and 
BO  help  us  God,  at  our  utmost  need.” 

Then  followed  Sir  Eeginald  de  Vere  and  Sir  Lancelot, 
his  son;  Sir  Eichard  de  Mowbray  and  many  other  knights 
taking  the  same  vow,  with  alterations  according  to  theii 


M4UDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


1?7 


rank  and  circumstances.  There  was  a pause  of  a moment 
:n  the  solemn  ceremony,  when  the  Lady  Jaqueline  de  Vere 
stepped  forward  also.  Observing  her  hesitate,  the  bishop  in- 
quired, in  a gentle  voice  of  encouragement : 

“ What  wouldest  thou,  daughter  ? ” 

I would  do  that,”  she  replied,  “ which  my  lord  and  hus- 
band hath  even  now  done.” 

With  hands  clasped  and  eyes  bent  upon  the  floor,  the 
Lady  Maude  followed  her  mother. 

“Kneel  on  either  side  of  the  knight,  my  daughters,” 
directed  the  bishop,  and,  in  a voice  that  trembled  with 
emotion,  each  separately  took  the  vow  of  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  City,  and  of  doing  all  that  in  them  lay  to  serve  the 
warriors  of  the  cross. 

Other  noble  ladies  followed ; and,  amid  a silence  that 
might  be  felt,  the  bishop  spoke. 

“ And  I,”  said  the  prelate,  “ by  the  authority  of  our  Lord 
and  his  blessed  apostles  SS.  Peter  and  Paul,  and  all  saints, 
and  by  the  authority  of  the  Holy  See,  in  this  case  especially 
committed  unto  me,  do,  as  far  as  the  keys  of  holy  Mothei 
Church  extend,  absolve  you  from  all  guilt  of  excommunica- 
tion, interdict,  or  any  other  sentence  which,  knowingly  oi 
ignorantly,  you  have  to  this  hour  incurred.  I absolve  you 
from  all  sins  confessed,  particularly  or  generally,  or  which, 
if  they  had  been  remembered,  would  have  been  confessed. 
I absolve  you  from  all  offences  against  God,  and  offences 
against  your  neighbor,  fj  om  fault  and  from  punishment.  I 
close,  by  the  authority  of  blessed  St.  Peter,  V’icar  of  Chri.^, 
the  gates  of  hell  and  purgatory,  and  I open  those  of  Para- 

M 


178 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


dise;  and  in  token  liereof  receive  the  cross  of  our  Lord 
Jesus  Christ/^  and  with  these  words,  he  attached  round  the 
neck  of  the  knights,  and  to  the  right  shoulder  of  the  ladies, 
the  red  cross  pattee,  that  separated  them  from  the  world 
and  marked  them  out  for  God.  “Provided  always,”  he 
continued,  “ that  in  case  you  fail  to  perform  this  vow,  the 
absolution  received  becometh  null  and  void,  and  yourselves 
incur  the  penalty  of  excommunication,  according  to  the 
canon  in  that  case  provided.  Now  the  God  of  armies  be 
praised,”  continued  the  bishop,  “ who  hath  put  it  into  the 
heart  of  the  King  of  England  to  undertake  this  holy  cru- 
sade ; for  we  hope  much  from  the  strong  arm  and  brave 
spirit  of  your  gracious  majesty.” 

“ God  and  St.  George  prosper  our  cause,”  was  the  reply. 
“ Amen  ! amen ! ” answered  the  bishop. 

The  conference  broke  up  amid  a flourish  of  trumpets ; but, 
ere  they  separated,  a midnight  mass  was  held  at  the  abbey 
The  splendid  church  was  gorgeously  illuminated,  the  pic- 
tures all  uncovered,  and,  amid  the  grandest  music  of  those 
days,  the  imposing  procession  filed  into  the  church ; the 
bishop  and  clergy  in  their  most  showy  vestments,  the  king 
in  royal  robes,  the  ladies  in  their  court  magnificence,  and 
the  nights  in  glittering  armor,  — royalty  and  knighthood 
and  Norman  loveliness  in  all  their  glory ; and  perhaps  nevei 
^ again  in  that  century  would  such  a spectacle  be  seen. 

Strong  contrast  with  the  days  of  the  lowly  Nazarene,  of 
whom  we  can  remember  but  two  processions,  — one  on 
entering  Jerusalem  on  the  humblest  of  animals  ; the  utmost 
that  can  be  said  of  worldly  applause  that  it  came  from  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


179 


children,  whose  youthful  voices  shouted  “ Hosanna ! ” and 
strewed  simple  palm  leaves  in  his  way.  No  mitred  bish : ps, 
no  swinging  incense,  no  gorgeous  vestments  nor  glittering 
banners,  no  worldly  pomp  was  there.  Then  that  other, 
along  the  Via  Dolorosa,  — the  mocking  robe,  the  crown  of 
thorns,  the  shameful  cross,  the  jeering  multitude  on  the  way 
to  Calvary.  These  were  the  Lord's  processions.  What 
must  he  have  thought  of  the  pomp  of  those  Eomish  shows 
in  that  day,  and  of  their  childish  imitations  in  this  later 
day? 

All  hearts  in  this  old  abbey  were  filled  with  the  great 
idea  of  redeeming  the  Holy  Sepulchre  from  the  hands  of  the 
infidels ; and  it  is  probable  that  the  fanatical  leaders  of  that 
day  felt  as  if  the  smiles  of  Heaven  must  be  bestowed  upon  a 
cause  so  holy.  Very  different  emotions,  however,  filled  the, 
hearts  of  the  worshippers. 

The  king  was  seeking  worldly  glory,  and  many  sympa 
thized  with  him.  The  archbishop  really  sincere  in  hisjnis 
taken  zeal,  and  Maude  felt  as  if  life  itself  might  well  b( 
offered  upon  the  altar  of  sacrifice,  if  thus  the  Holy  Land 
could  be  redeemed.  After  the  celebration  of  the  Mass,  the 
procession  marched  several  times  around  the  church,  sing- 
ing the  old  recessional  hymn  of  the  Koyal  Banners.  Then 
the  multitude  separated,  and  henceforth  all  England  ^vas 
astir  in  preparations  for  the  third  crusade.  Men  of  all 
ranks,  stimulated  by  the  example  of  the  king,  were  eager  to 
enlist ; and  the  sign  of  the  cross  was  seen  everywhere  upon 
the  numbers  w^aiting  for  an  opportunity  to  embark. 

Kavenscliflf  was  no  longer  a peaceful  garrison,  at  ease 


180 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


their  arms ; for  the  din  of  warlike  preparation  was  heard 
from  morning  until  night.  The  baron  is  frequently  absent 
summoning  his  retainers,  who  were  arriving  in  companies  to 
register  their  names,  to  procure  arms,  and  to  receive  orders. 
Each  day  now  was  heard  the  shrill  trumpet  marshalling 
the  companies  that  were  training  in  the  ballium  of  the  cas- 
tle, and  the  fierce  neigh  of  the  war-horses  exercising  in  the 
tilting-yard.  The  cleaning  and  repairing  of  arms  occupied 
the  time  not  employed  in  military  exercises,  and  once  a 
week  there  was  a grand  review  in  the  ballium,  where  four 
thousand  men-at-arms  were  drilled  by  their  commanders. 
But  that  which  interested  the  ladies  of  the  castle  most,  was 
the  gallant  display  of  five  hundred  cavalry,  mounted  on 
spirited  chargers,  going  through  their  military  evolutions 
with  matchless  skill  and  fire. 

The  banners  of  England  and  Jerusalem  floated  from  the 
towers  of  the  keep,  and  every  evening  the  military  music 
of  the  castle  practised  in  the  tilting-yard. 

Everywhere  the  martial  spirit  prevailed,  and  more  pre- 
cious than  ever  were  Maude’s  sweet  hours  in  the  turret,  for 
she  felt  that  they  were  drawing  to  a close. 

Lancelot  had  quite  recovered,  and,  summoned  by  the 
king,  he  had  joined  the  army  gathered  around  the  royal 
person,  where  he  had  also  met  Guy  de  Mowbray.  Old 
Cicely  was  frequently  found  in  tears  at  the  thought  of 
losing  her  valued  mistress  and  the  dear  young  den|oiselles, 
and  Maude  tried  to  comfort  the  faithful  servant  of  so  many 
years. 

“ Be  not  so  sorely  grieved,  good  Cicely,”  said  the  young 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


181 


lady  ; we  be  on  a holy  errand.  The  Lord  and  his  saints 
be  with  us;  and  the  holy  work  done,  we  return  again  to  the 
old  castle.” 

- ‘‘1  wish  that  I might  go  with  thee,  Lady  Maude.  What 
doest  thou  an  thou  be  sick  in  that  far-off  land  ? ” 

'‘Thou  art  too  old,  good  Cicely.  Tarry  thou  at  home, 
and  take  care  of  Father  Ambrose.  Let  him  not  miss  his 
good  ale  and  furmety  ; but  I know  that  thou  wilt  be  good  to 
the  old  friar.” 

Cicely  wiped  away  the  tears,  and  said  : 

“ I trow  that  it  is  a good  and  holy  work  that  calleth  thee 
away ; but  it  seemeth  that  women  had  fain  tarry  at  home.’’ 
“ What  becometli,  then,  of  the  wounded  and  the  dying, 
Cicely?  Women  may  not  join  the  warfare,  but  they  can 
bind  up  the  bleeding  limbs  of  the  soldiers  of  the  cross.” 

“ Thou  wert  ever  a saint.  Lady  Maude.  I trust  that  thou 
mayst  sit  once  more  in  the  little  turret,  with  the  blessed 
Gospel.  But  last  night  I dreamed  that  I saw  thee  there, 
and  thou  didst  smile  upon  me  in  such  a loving  and  holy 
way ; and  just  as  I was  about  to  touch  thee,  thou  vanishest 
out  of  the  casement ; and  the  last  that  I saw  of  thee  was 
thine  own  sweet  smile,  and  a pair  of  white  wings  that  soared 
upward  to  the  sky.” 

“ And  so,  good  Cicely,  thou  thinkest  that  never  again  sit 
I in  the  lonely  turret.  And  what  then?  I be  in  sweet 
Paradise,  with  my  Lord  and  the  holy  angels ; and  it  mat- 
tereth  not  whether  I go  there  from  the  castle  of  Ravenscliff 
or  from  the  fields  of  Palestine.” 

It  mattereth  much  to  me,  dear  Lady  Maude ; for  an  the 
16 


182 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

Lord  taketh  thee  away,  I wis  that  thou  liest  in  thy  father’s 
chapel,  whither  I might  go  and  look  at  thy  dear  name  upon 
the  marble,  like  the  Lady  Eleanor  that  sleepeth  there,  with 
her  feet  upon  a hound,  her  hands  clasped  in  prayer,  and 
her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  image  of  the  crucified.” 

The  Lord  doeth  all  things  well,  Cicely : an  I do  \m 
blessed  will,  I leave  all  the  rest  to  him.” 

This  was  the  sweet  spirit  of  self-resignation  with  which 
Maude  contemplated  her  vow. 

Just  as  expectation  was  at  the  highest  point,  from  some 
sudden  caprice.  King  Kichard  delayed  the  expedition. 
Many  who  were  fully  prepared  waited  not  for  the  tardy 
sovereign,  but  in  large  numbers  passed  over  into  the  Holy 
Land  and  joined  themselves  to  Guy  of  Lusignan,  who  had 
now  collected  the  remnants  of  all  the  military  orders,  and, 
with  the  princes  and  knights  who  had  escaped  the  Moslem 
scimetar,  was  engaged  in  besieging  Acre,  — his  forces  thus 
become  immense.  Saladin  pitched  his  tent  on  the  mountains 
to  the  south  not  long  after  the  Christians  had  commenced 
the  siege,  and  innumerable  battles  in  the  open  field  suc- 
ceeded, in  which  neither  army  gained  any  material  advan- 
tage that  was  not  soon  compensated  by  some  following  re- 
verse. Both  sides  were  so  well  supplied  with  provisions 
that  the  confiict  seemed  interminable,  from  the  equal  force 
and  zeal  of  the  contending  parties. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


EVELINE  AT  COURT. 

TjIINDING  that  the  king  delayed  his  departure  untiJ 
December,  the  Baron  of  Ravenscliff  postponed  his  own 
motions  until  spring,  and  Maude  was  busily  engaged  with 
her  favorite  employments  all  winter. 

Wilfred  is  making  real  progress  now  in  the  study  of  the 
Gospel.  We  will  take  our  seat  by  the  side  of  the  two  when 
the  page  is  able  to  read  slowly,  but  correctly,  his  first  chap- 
ter in  the  blessed  book. 

“ But  the  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  tho 
Father  will  send  in  my  name,  he  shall  bring  all  things  to 
your  remembrance,  whatsoever  I have  said  unto  you.” 

“ Thinkest  thou.  Lady  Maude,”  said  the  reader,  “ that  it 
l)e  that  blessed  Teacher  which  speaketh  to  me  in  the  night 
season  ? for  the  voice  bringeth  many  past  sins  to  my  remem- 
brance ; but  with  it  ever  cometh  the  voice  of  a Saviour  s 
love.” 

“Doubtless  it  be  the  Holy  Spirit.  And  I have  long 
w^atched  thee,  good  Wilfred ; and  now  I ween  that  thou  art 
among  the  blessed  ones  whom  Jesus  meaneth  when  he 
eth  these  words : 


188 


184 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


No  man  can  come  to  me  except  the  Father  which  hath 
sent  me  draw  him ; and  I will  raise  him  up  at  the  last  day/ 
Blessed  art  thou,  good  Wilfred,  an  the  Father  draweth  thee ; 
for  listen  again  to  these  precious  words : 

‘ And  this  is  the  Father’s  will  which  hath  sent  me,  that 
of  all  which  he  hath  given  me,  I should  lose  nothing,  but 
should  raise  it  up  again  at  the  last  day.’  Dost  thou  thus 
believe,  Wilfred?  An  it  be  so,  the  promise  belongeth  unto 
thee  of  a surety.” 

Deeper  draughts  of  the  pure  fountain  of  truth  were  drunk 
all  the  winter  season,  and  much  happiness  did  Maude  find 
in  the  docile  spirit  of  the  young  student. 

Eveline’s  head  was  completely  intoxicated  with  the  pros- 
pect of  a visit  to  London ; and  the  young  damsels  in  the 
’broiderie  room  spent  much  time  in  discussing  the  pleasures 
in  store  for  the  youthful  beauty.  Having  been  long  aware 
of  Maude’s  employments,  hitherto  she  has  had  no  reason  for 
trespassing  upon  her  retirement ; but  one  day  we  find  her 
knocking  at  the  door  of  the  turret. 

Can  I come  in,  Maude?  ” said  the  voice  in  the  corridor. 

Opening  the  door,  Maude  took  her  sister’s  hand,  greeting 
her  with  a pleasant  smile. 

**  Certes  thou  art  welcome,  sister  mine,”  said  the  young 
student,  kissing  the  rosy  cheek.  It  pleaseth  me  well  to 
see  thee ; but  what  bringeth  thee  to  this  quiet  turret,  Eve- 
line ? My  work  here  is  very  serious ; but  to  me  very 
precious.” 

“Yea,  truly,  I wot  what  thou  art  doing,  Maude;  but  now 
I come  to  ask  thy  help,  for  the  time  be  growing  very  short. 


MAUDE  AND  M I U I A M. 


185 


and  I am  not  half  ready  for  my  journey.  The  damsels 
below  have  their  hands  full  with  my  kirtles  and  tunics;  but 
I must  e’en  have  thy  skilful  fingers  on  my  wimple  and  my 
gloves,  sweet  one.” 

What  wouldst  thou,  Eveline  ? I am  ready  to  help  thee, 
sister  mine.” 

‘‘I  must  have  my  wimple  embroidered  with  silver  thread, 
and  my  gloves  with  silk.  1 have  brave  patterns  ; but  none 
can  ’broider  as  thou  canst.  Wilt  help  me,  Maude?” 

“I  begin  them  to-day  an  thou  wiliest  it;  but  I like  not 
the  journey  to  the  court,  sweet  one;  for  raethinketh  that  Sir 
Walter  de  Courtenay  looketh  upon  thee  with  a lover’s  eyes, 
sister  mine;  and  what  do  I without  thee  in  this  old  castle?” 
Eveline  blushed  deeply  as  she  took  from  her  girdle  a 
note  of  rose-colored  paper,  fastened  with  a small  silver  arrow 
through  the  impression  of  a heart. 

‘‘This  cometh  from  London,  Maude;  and  syth  writing  I 
read  not,  I bring  it  to  thee  to  read  for  me.” 

Maude  opened  the  billet,  and  read  : 

“To  THE  Lady  Eveline  de  Vere: 

These  few  hasty  lines  be  written  to  the  lady  of  my  heart, 
praying  that  she  cometh  truly  to  Westminster  with  the 
noble  baron.  I count  the  weary  days  and  hours,  hoping  to 
see  thee,  sweet  one,  ere  many  days  pass  by.  There  be  many 
banquets  in  store  for  thee,  fair  lady,  among  the  highest  in 
the  land.  Queen  Eleanor  fitteth  up  thy  bower  daintily,  and 
hath  already  installed  Winifred  Bertram,  of  gentle  birth, 
to  be  thy  bower-woman.  One  word  let  me  write,  and  when 
thou  readest,  destroy  this  note.  Be  thou  very  coy  and  dis- 
tant toward  the  king;  for,  though  a brave  and  gallant 
16  ♦ 


186 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


knight,  he  is  no  fitting  admirer  of  a young  maiden.  I 
would  write  this  to  my  own  fair  sister  Mabel.  Come 
speedily,  sweet  one,  and  thou  wilt  be  truly  welcome  to  thine 
own  true  knight,  Walter  de  Courtenay. 

Westminster,  St.  Agnes’s  Eve.” 

The  bright  smile  and  rosy  cheek  with  which  Eveline 
listened,  betrayed  the  pleasure  given  by  these  few  hasty 
lines. 

He  will  be  thy  lover,  Eveline ; and  I shall  lose  thee, 
sweet  one,”  said  Maude;  “but  ere  thou  goest,  let  me  show 
thee  my  work,”  and,  bringing  out  her  manuscript,  she  laid 
it  before  her  sister. 

“ It  must  have  cost  thee  much  toil,  sister  mine,”  said  the 
/oung  lady. 

“ Some  toil,  it  is  true,  Eveline,  but  more  of  blessedness. 
llVould  that  thou  couldst  read  it,  sister  mine!  I have 
.aught  Wilfred.  Wouldst  thou  not  spare  one  hour  daily  ? ” 

“Not  now,  Maude.  Wait  until  I return,  and  then  I 
ome  to  thee  daily.” 

“Thou  wilt  not,  Eveline;  for  thy  young  heart  will  be 
filled  with  other  thoughts.” 

“What  colors  would’st  thou  choose  for  my  gloves, 
Maude?” 

“ Not  too  many.  I would  like  small  rose-huds  and  green 
leaves.” 

“ That  would  be  brave,  indeed ! But  what  for  my  net, 
Maude?” 

‘ Seed-pearls  are  really  the  loveliest,  sister.” 

“ The  good  baron,  my  father,  hath  promised  me  a new  set 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


187 


of  jewels  when  I go  to  court.  What  sayeat  thou  to  dia- 
monds, Maude  ? ” 

Very  showy,  Eveline ; but  suit  thyself,  sweet  one.  Now 
let  me  read  thee  a few  verses  of  my  blessed  Gospel  ere  thou 
leaves!  me.” 

But  the  precious  words  fell  upon  pre-occupied  soil;  and,  as 
Eveline  left  the  turret,  she  turned  back  once  more  to  say : 
‘‘  I must  have  two  wimples,  Maude,  one  of  gold  and  one 
of  silver  thread.  So  come  down  soon;* for  we  go  in  ten 
days,”  and  the  sister  heard  her  retreating  figure  singing  a 
merry  air  of  Provence  all  the  way  down  the  long  flight  of 
stone  steps,  until  the  voice  faded  in  the  distance,  still 
carolling  her  gay  song  as  she  entered  the  ’broiderie  room. 

Very  beautiful  was  the  delicate  work  so  gracefully 
wrought  by  Maude’s  skilful  fingers,  and  when  it  was  really 
completed,  all  the  young  damsels  crowded  around  to  praise 
the  skill  with  which  she  had  traced  the  lovely  flowers. 

It  was  cold  when  they  started  on  their  journey ; Eveline 
in  a litter,  warmly  clad  in  woollen  garments  trimmed  with 
fur,  and  hood  of  the  same  materials,  attended  by  a numer- 
ous retinue  of  men-at-arms.  Stopping  for  the  night  by  the 
way,  it  was  several  days  ere  they  reached  London,  where 
they  were  warmly  greeted  by  the  king  and  Queen  Eleanor. 

“ There  be  many  waiting  for  thee,  fair  lady,”  saia  the  lat- 
ter ; “ one  coming  daily  to  wot  of  the  motions  of  the  Lady 
Eveline  de  Vere.  He  be  in  the  ante-chamber  now.” 

Calling  an  attendant,  she  sent  for  Sir  Walter  de  Courte 
nay,  who  betrayed,  in  a way  not  to  be  mistaken,  the  deep 
interest  felt  in  the  young  stranger. 


188 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Tlie  first  greetings  over,  a lady  in  waiting  conducted  Eve* 
line  to  her  bower,  where  ^Yinifred  Bertram  was  ready  to 
receive  her.  Her  first  desire  was  rest;  for  the  journey  had 
been  long  and  wearisome ; but  after  a few  hours  we  find  her 
ready  for  the  hands  of  her  attendant,  who  spared  no  pains 
in  adorning  the  beautiful  creature  before  her. 

For  the  first  evening,  Eveline  was  introduced  to  a select 
number,  who  looked,  some  with  envy,  others  with  unmingled 
admiration,  upon  “the  new  star  in  their  midst ; for  certainly 
there  were  none  present  who  could  bear  any  comparison 
with  the  stranger. 

The  undisguised  admiration  of  the  king  was  wormwood 
and  gall  to  Sir  Walter,  who  took  an  opportunity  to  whisper 
a few  words  apart  ere  she  retired. 

Remember  my  caution.  Lady  Eveline ; for  the  king’s 
devotion  argueth  no  good  to  the  fairest  and  most  high-born 
of  his  subjects.” 

In  a day  or  two  we  find  her  introduced  at  court,  where 
her  grace  and  beauty  made  a great  sensation  — the  words  of 
flattery  pouring  in  upon  her  from  all  quarters.  And  now 
followed  a succession  of  banquets,  and  other  scenes  of  gayety 
common  to  courts  ; Eveline  constantly  attended  by  Sir  Wal- 
ter de  Courtenay,  one  of  the  most  admired  and  respected  of 
gallant  knights,  as  well  as  the  most  favored  of  the  young 
lady’s  numerous  admirers.  She  had  not  forgotten  Sir  Wal- 
ter’s hints  concerning  the  king,  and,  although  treating  him 
with  the  dignity  due  his  exalted  rank,  she  most  carefully 
avoided  all  occasions  when  she  might  be  found  alone  by 
Coeur  de  Lion,  whose  admiration  was  opcm  and  undisguised, 


MADDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


189 


but  accompanied  by  a freedom  especially  iffensive  to  so 
pure-minded  a maiden  as  the  Lady  Eveline  de  Vere. 

She  had  cautioned  Winifred  always  to  keep  the  door  of 
her  ante-chamber  locked ; but  on  one  occasion,  having 
passed  out  on  an  errand  for  the  Lady  Eveline,  the  lattei 
had  forgotten  to  turn  the  lock.  Seated  by  a small  table, 
she  was  completely  engrossed  by  the  contemplation  of  a 
miniature  of  Sir  Walter,  which  she  held  in  her  hand,  un- 
conscious that  the  door  slowly  opened ; but  hearing  a step, 
she  raised  her  eyes  to  encounter  the  king,  who  boldly  ad- 
vanced, Eveline  rising  to  her  feet  and  stepping  a few  paces 
backward. 

“ We  cry  thee  mercy,  fair  lady  ! ’’  said  the  king ; and 
would  not  have  thus  intruded  on  thy  privacy,  an  thou  wert 
not  to  our  person  so  coy  and  distant.^’ 

Be  seated,  my  liege,”  replied  the  lady ; but  I hide  it 
not  that  thou  wouldst  be  more  welcome  an  thou  wert  at- 
tended by  Queen  Eleanor.” 

The  king  drew  a chair  close  to  the  lady. 

“ What  aileth  thee,  fair  maiden  ? ” said  the  king.  “ Thou 
be  gracious  to  all  but  to  thy  sovereign.” 

‘‘  I forget  not,  my  liege,  the  distance  atween  monarch  and 
subject;  and  to  Eveline  de  Vere  thou  be  Richard  Plan- 
tagenet.  King  of  England,  naught  more,  naught  less.” 

The  king  bit  his  lip ; for  under  this  expression  of  respect 
for  royalty  he  felt  that  there  was  a rebuke  thac  he  dare  not 
resent. 

This  is  our  cause  of  complaint,  fair  Eveline.  We  would 
not  be  only  and  always  king ; for  it  is  vain  to  hide  the  fact 


190 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


that  to  thee  we  be  adorer,  and  that  syth  the  first  hour  that 
our  royal  eyes  looked  upon  thee  at  Ravenscliffl” 

Eveline  drew  her  chair  away,  and,  rising  to  her  feet,  said 
with  dignity : 

‘‘  I cry  thee  mercy,  my  liege.  This  language  becometn 
not  a king  addressing  a subject.” 

‘‘And  why  not,  fair  Eveline,  an  I love  thee?  Wouldst 
scorn  Richard  Plantagenet?  Kings  have  their  lady-loves 
as  well  as  their  subjects.” 

“The  betrothed  of  Sir  Walter  de  Courtenay  listeneth  not 
to  words  of  love  from  aught  in  the  kingdom,  not  even  from 
the  King  of  England.  And  now,  my  liege,  I cry  thee 
mercy,  an  I ask  permission  to  retire  from  the  royal  pres- 
ence.” 

With  these  words,  bowing  gracefully,  Eveline,  opening 
the  door  of  her  sleeping-room,  loft  the  discomfited  suitor 
alone.  From  this  period,  there  w^as  no  more  enjoyment  at 
court  for  the  Lady  Eveline ; and  the  baron’s  business  at  an 
end,  the  party  prepared  for  a return  to  Ravenscliff,  Sir 
Walter,  as  the  betrothed  of  the  Lady  Eveline,  accompany- 
ing them  on  their  journey,  for  he  had  been  made  acquainted 
with  the  story  of  the  king’s  advances.  Winifred  was  also 
of  the  party;  for,  attached  already  to  the  fair  lady,  she 
had  asked  the  privilege  of  a permanent  liome  at  Ravens 
clifi*.  ' 

By  the  side  of  Eveline’s  litter  rode  Sir  Walter,  the  twc 
engrossed  by  each  other,  saying  those  sweet  rotl.ings  inter- 
esting only  to  the  speakers.  At  home  once  more  IWaude 
Boon  perceived  that  her  fair  sister  had  no  time  ^ the 


I 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


19J 


quiet  studies  of  the  turret ; and  we  find  her  telling  the  storj 
of  her  betrothal  on  the  eve  of  her  return. 

“ Dost  remember,  Maude,  about  the  charm  of  St.  Agnes’s 
Eve?  I tell  thee,  sister  mine,  that  it  was  Sir  Walter  de 
(ourtenay  that  gave  me  the  flower  in  my  dream/’ 

The  winter  passed  rapidly.  It  is  now  the  eve  before  de- 
parture, and  Maude  is  spending  her  last  hours  in  her  holy 
sanctum.  Accustomed  all  her  life  to  hear  that  a pilgrimage 
to  the  Holy  Land  is  the  highest  act  of  piety,  we  therefore 
find  the  young  devotee,  with  hands  clasped  and  eyes  raised 
to  heaven,  imploring  protection  in  her  long  and  weary  pil- 
grimage. Though  she  has  never  heard  the  name  of  the 
doctrine  so  cherished  by  reformers,  and  so  hated  by  papists 
in  later  years,  she  enjoys  the  peace,  though  she  knows  not 
the  name,  of  the  precious  doctrine;  for  justification  by  faith 
lay  deeply  entombed  in  these  mediseval  days. 

Maude  dreams  not  of  obtaining  the  absolution  of  her  sins 
by  this  voluntary  pilgrimage ; but  she  loves  the  Lord  and 
Saviour,  and  imagines  that  it  is  pleasing  to  her  Master  to 
rescue  the  land,  that  he  hath  sanctified  by  his  presence,  from 
the  pollution  of  infidels.  Therefore  Maude  asks  his  bleeeing 
on  her  journey,  his  smile  upon  her  path. 

Turning  to  take  one  last  look  at  her  little  sanctum,  she 
stands  a moment  at  the  casement,  looking  sadly  at  the  red 
glory  of  the  sunset  disappearing  below  the  tree-tops,  won- 
dering when  she  shall  visit  the  dear  spot  again.  Taking 
out  her  pencil,  she  records  the  day  and  hour  when  she 
closed  its  door,  to  enter  no  more,  perhaps,  for  many  weary 
years. 


192 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


It  is  a sharp,  clear  morning,. — the  last  matin  service  in 
the  chapel,  the  last  gathering  around  the  family  board  ere 
the  crusaders  take  up  their  march  from  England. 

But  little  was  eaten  on  that  morning,  for  hearts  were  too 
full  for  appetite.  In  silerce  the  sisters  parted,  and  then  the 
prioress  laid  her  hand  in  blessing  upon  the  consecrated 
heads  of  the  females  of  the  party. 

“ The  blessing  of  the  Holy  Mother  and  all  the  saints  be 
with  you,”  said  the  solemn  voice  of  the  speaker ; and  may 
our  good  Lord  give  success  to  the  holy  work.” 

Be  kind  and  watchful  over  my  beloved  Eveline,”  said 
the  mother’s  trembling  voice,  and,  giving  her  last  kiss,  she 
added : “ Be  of  good  cheer,  my  daughter.  The  Lord  and 
all  the  saints  be  with  as.” 

The  Lady  Eveline  and  Sir  Walter  stood  aside  to  whisper 
their  last  parting  words. 

“ This  is  a heavy  weight  of  sorrow,”  said  the  weeper ; 
“ father,  mother,  brother,  sister,  and  thou,  too,  Walter. 
Almost  too  much  for  a feeble  woman’s  heart ! ” 

“ Keep  heart,  my  sweet  one,”  replied  the  young  knight. 
“Time  flies  speedily.  The  blessed  Virgin  keepeth  watch 
over  us,  and  when  our  days  of  warfare  be  over  we  meet 
again.” 

“ It  may  be  years,  Walter.  It  may  be  never.” 

“ Harbor  not  such  gloomy  fears,  rny  own  Eveline.  And 
now  farewell.” 

Snatching  one  last  embrace,  the  knight  gave  Eveline  to 
the  prioress,  and  turned  hastily  to  join  the  cavalcade  out  of 
doors,  while  the  ladies  knelt  to  receive"  the  blessing  of  the 


M A U D K AND  MIRIAM. 


198 


priest.  Father  Ambrose  stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  castle 
with  the  holy  cross  uplifted.  Kissing  the  sacred  symbol, 
the  ladies  once  more  bade  farewell  to  the  priest ; and,  turn- 
ing to  Cicely,  the  Lady  Jaqueline  said  : 

“Thou  wilt  be  good  to  Father  Ambrose,  and  see  that  all 
his  wants  be  well  supplied  ; and  when  our  holy  work  is  done, 
we  hope  to  meet  again;  perchance  it  may  not  be  here,  but 
at  the  gates  of  the  Urbs  Beata.” 

The  red  cross  on  their  shoulders,  and  in  the  pilgrim's 
garb,  the  two  entered  their  litters,  their  ladies  in  waiting 
by  their  side ; for  Bertha  Ducange  and  Gertrude  Ellerton 
had  also  taken  the  cross. 

It  was  a gallant  company  that  marched  out  in  long  pro- 
cession over  the  ballium  of  the  castle ; the  few  remaining  at 
home  stationed  on  the  wall,  and  a long  line  beyond  the 
drawbridge  waiting  to  see  the  procession  pass. 

The  Baron  of  Bavenscliff,  in  glittering  armor,  carrying 
his  sword  and  lance,  his  battle-axe  and  mace  hanging  at  his 
side,  mounted  on  a splendid  charger  richly  caparisoned, 
headed  the  procession.  Sir  Walter  de  Courtenay  by  his  side. 
Knights  in  shining  array  followed : Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg’s 
massy  form,  bearing  aloft  the  consecrated  cross,  Sir  Amelot 
de  Hussy  the  banner  of  England,  and  Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy 
that  of  Jerusalem,  the  gay  plumes  in  their  helmets  dancing 
in  the  wind. 

Then  came  the  litters  carrying  the  female  jiilgrims,  and 
the  wagons  with  their  camp  equipage,  surrounded  by  brave 
knights,  cheered  by  the  spectators  as  tliey  passed  over  the 
ballium.  Next  came  the  grand  array  of  cavalry,  gallantly 
17  N 


194 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


mounted  on  fine  horses  full  of  spirits,  followed  by  the  men 
&t-arms.  The  retinue  thus  passed  out,  all  singing  the  is 
ipiiing  hymn  which  they  had  been  learning  for  this  day 

Soliiers,  raise  your  banners  high  ; 

Spread  them  to  the  starry  sky; 

Sound  the  warrior’s  battle-cry, 

“ It  is  the  will  of  God  1 ” 

Sound  the  trumpets!  beat  the  drum! 

Bid  the  brave  crusaders  come ; 

Bid  them  leave  the  sweets  of  home. 

“ It  is  the  will  of  God ! ” 

Take  the  cross,  and  join  the  host 
Bravest  he  who  leaves  the  most 
In  the  holy  cross  we  boast, 

*‘It  is  the  will  of  God!” 

Paynim  hosts  pollute  the  tomb : 

Hasten  on  their  day  of  doom! 

To  the  rescue  I soldiers,  come  t 
“It  is  the  will  of  God!” 

See  the  cross  beneath  the  feet, 

Dragged  and  trampled  in  the  stra^. 

Haste  the  Moslem  foe  to  meet. 

“ It  is  the  will  of  God  I 

Join  the  brave  crusaders’  train, 

Haste  to  raise  the  cross  again, 

Though  it  be  by  thousands  slain. 

It  is  the  will  of  God!  ” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


IW 


What  though  through  a orirason  flood, 

Though  thou  wad’st  through  seas  of  blood, 

Countless  hosts  that  path  have  trod. 

“It  is  the  will  of  God  I ” 

Bout  the  Moslem!  out  them  down! 

Be  a soldier  of  renown! 

Then  thou’lt  wear  a starry  crown. 

“ It  is  the  will  of  God ! ” 

By  St.  George  and  all  his  host ! 

By  the  treasure  we  have  lost! 

Take  the  cross,  nor  count  the  cost. 

“ It  is  the  will  of  God ! ” 

The  glittering  armor  and  waving  plumes,  the  splendid 
banners  and  richly  caparisoned  chargers,  and  most  of  all, 
the  swelling  chorus  of  manly  voices,  full  of  enthusiasm,  sing- 
ing the  crusaders’  battle-cry,  imparted  to  the  pageant  an 
aspect  of  imposing  grandeur  such  as  had  never  before 
passed  out  of  the  ballium  of  Ravenscliff.  The  old  warder 
raised  the  portcullis  and  dropped  the  drawbridge,  the  bright 
array  passing  gallantly  over,  the  crusader’s  battle-cry  “ It 
IS  the  will  of  God!  ” still  sounding  in  the  ears  of  the  dwell- 
ers at  the  castle. 

Eveline  is  folded  in  the  arms  of  the  prioress,  listening  to 
the  chorus  as,  fainter  and  fainter,  it  came  fraught  with  sad- 
ness, until,  silenced  at  last,  the  shrill  trumpets  took  up  the 
stirring  call  to  battle,  and  the  two,  with  Cicely  and  Father 
Ambrose,  stood  listening  in  the  same  place  until  the  final 
silence  succeeding  the  exciting  pageant  left  its  heavy  hand 


196 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Upon  the  liearts  that  realized  now,  indeed,  that  the  brave 
crusaders  were  on  their  way  to  the  Holy  City. 

The  young  ladies  who  waited  upon  the  Lady  Jaquelme 
had  all  sought  other  places  of  refuge,  some  having  entered 
convents,  some  having  returned  to  their  friends;  all  scat- 
tered save  Bertha  Ducange  and  Gertrude  Ellerton,  two  of 
the  gentry  who  had  followed  the  fortunes  of  their  lady. 

Eveline  returned  to  St.  Agnes  with  the  prioress,  and  the 
castle  was  left  in  charge  of  Sir  Koger  de  Neuville,  a brave 
knight,  but  too  old  to  go  on  a crusade. 

We  will  follow  the  long  procession  as  it  passes  through 
the  domains  of  Ravenscliff,  very  mingled  emotions  filling 
the  hearts  of  the  ladies. 

Maude  takes  one  last  look  at  her  little  turret,  which  for  a 
long  time  could  be  seen  by  the  travellers,  and  when  it  dis- 
appeared, covering  her  face  with  her  hands,  she  yielded  for 
a moment,  and  wept  silently  at  the  possibility  of  seeing  it 
no  more. 

We  follow  them  to  the  place  of  embarkation,  where  a 
fleet  is  in  waiting  for  many  more  on  their  way  tc  the  Holy 
Land ; among  the  company  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth, 
whose  jealousy  is  again  aroused  by  the  superiority,  in  miin- 
oers  and  equipments,  of  his  rivaTs  forces. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


VTELCOME  AT  ACEE. 

'pHILIP  AUGUSTUS  and  Richard  having  entered  into 
a treaty  to  bury  their  private  feuds  for  awhile,  we  find 
both  monarchs  making  large  donations  to  abbeys,  churches, 
and  monasteries,  in  order  to  bring  down  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  upon  their  work. 

They  were  both  in  the  pride  of  youthful  ambition,  act- 
uated more  by  a thirst  for  glory  than  by  the  religious  spirit 
of  the  age.  Interchanging  passionate  vows  of  friendship, 
which  might  be  as  easily  broken,  they  agreed  to  unite  their 
forces,  and  on  the  plain  of  Vezelay,  in  France,  reviewed  a 
gallant  and  well -equipped  host  of  one  hundred  thousand 
men,  all  armed.  Marching  together  as  far  as  Lyons,  they 
separated  — Philip  leading  the  French  to  embark  at  Genoa, 
where  he  hired  vessels  to  carry  them  to  Messina,  the  place 
of  general  rendezvous,  which  place  he  reached  after  having 
encountered  a storm  upon  the  voyage.  Richard,  in  the 
meanwhile,  proceeded  to  Marseilles,  there  to  await  his  fleet ; 
but  with  his  usual  impatience  of  delay,  he  remained  but  a 
week,  and  then  hiring  all  the  vessels  that  he  could  find, 
sailed  for  Genoa.  In  the  Gulf  of  Salernum,  the  English 

m 


198 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


king  was  met  by  his  fleet,  and,  anchoring  before  Messina, 
caused  all  the  horns  of  his  vast  armament  to  blow  as  he 
entered  the  port.  The  excessive  noise  brought  all  the  in- 
habitants to  the  walls,  where  they  beheld  the  thousand  ban- 
ners of  England  covering  the  gulf  with  all  the  gay.  and 
splendid  colors  of  chivalry.  Richard  was  fond  of  such  dis- 
play, and  perhaps  so  slight  a thing  as  this  first  awoke  that 
jealousy  in  the  bosom  of  Philip  Augustus  which  afterward 
proved  so  ruinous.  Notwithstanding,  the  King  of  France 
had  come  down  with  Tancred,  the  usurping  King  of  Sicily, 
who  had  much  to  fear  from  the  anger  of  the  hasty  King  of 
England.  He  had  treated  Richard’s  sister  with  great  indig- 
nity, having  imprisoned  her.  It  is  true  that  he  freed  her 
on  Richard’s  arrival,  but  the  king’s  first  act  was  to  demand 
the  restitution  of  his  sister’s  dowry  ; a demand  met  for  some 
time  with  naught  but  quibbling  and  evasion.  After  a 
tedious  voyage,  the  De  Veres  find  themselves  before  the 
port  of  Messina,  and  the  English,  sharing  their  king’s  love 
of  display,  added  their  shouts  of  exultation  to  the  blowing 
of  the  horns,  and  amid  cries  of  ‘‘  Long  live  King  Richard ! ” 
the  fleet  entered  the  port. 

Maude  was  anxious  to  land,  for  she  knew  who  were  on 
hoard  of  the  king’s  galley ; and  being  near  enough  to  the 
royal  vessel  to  distinguish  forms,  she  was  almost  certain 
ti  l at  Lancelot  and  Guy  stood  near  the  person  of  the  king. 
Her  anxiety  was  soon  gratified  ; for  on  the  moment  of  land- 
ing, the  two  young  knights  hastened  to  welcome  their 
friends. 

“ Thou  hast  gathered  roses  on  thy  voyage,  Maude,”  said 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM.  199 

her  brother ; “ for  never  saw  I thee  look  so  fair  in  the  old 
castle.” 

“We  have  had  a brave  passage,  only  a few  slight  gales  ; 
and  I trow  that  the  sea-air  hath  done  wonders  in  preparing 
us  for  our  hot  marches  in  Palestine.” 

Turning  to  Guy,  she  extended  her  hand. 

“Thou  lookedst  not  for  to  meet  me  as  a pilgrim,  Guy, 
when  we  clasped  hands  in  the  chapel ; but  when  my  good 
mother  taketh  the  cross,  that  seemeth  a call  tc  me , for  in 
the  perils  of  war,  what  doeth  the  Lady  Jaqueline  without 
her  daughter  ? ” 

“That  holy  symbol  becometh  thee,  Maude,”  said  the 
young  knight,  glancing  at  the  cross  upon  her  shoulder  ; 
“ and  I wis  that  the  blessed  saints  take  charge  of  tH%e  all 
the  voyage.” 

“ Hast  read  the  book,  Guy,  that  I gave  to  thee  ? ” 

“ Twice  through,  Maude.  It  is  a wondrous  picture  ot  our 
Lord;  and  it  seemeth  that  one  studieth  not  the  Gospel,  with- 
out learning  to  love  the  Lord  in  a way  that  we  wist  not  of 
before.” 

“ Dost  pray,  Guy,  that  the  word  may  dwell  in  thy  heart  ? 
for,  certes,  it  is  the  word,  and  not  the  sacraments,  that 
maketh  us  free.” 

“ That  is  not  what  Father  Ambrose  teacheth.” 

“ Thou  speakest  truth,  Guy ; but  an  the  good  friar 
teacheth  one  thing,  and  the  Lord  himself  teacheth  an- 
other, it  seemeth  that  we  hold  to  the  Lord's  words, 
Guy.” 

“The  friar  teacheth  that  our  Lord  left  his  Church  upon 


200 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


earth  with  power  to  bind  and  loose,  to  make  new  laws  an 
it  pleaseth  the  priests.” 

“ That  is  true,  Guy  ; but  meseemeth  that  priests  taught  by 
the  Lord  make  no  laws,  and  teach  naught  but  our  Loid’s 
own  Gospel  which  cometh  from  his  own  blessed  lips.” 

‘‘Thou  art  my  teacher.  Saint  Maude,”  said  the  young 
knight,  smiling  in  reply  ; “ for  I wot  that  thou  leadest  me 
not  astray.” 

Taking  a quiet  part  of  the  vessel,  Guy  led  the  Lady 
Maude  to  a seat  near  the  bow,  where  beneath  the  bright 
expanse  of  a Mediteranean  sky  they  communed  together 
slightly  of  the  past,  but  more  of  that  rosy  future  that  both 
hoped  for. 

“ It  is  very  pleasant  to  know  that  thou  art  so  near,  sweet 
one,  in  all  that  may  befall  us  in  the  holy  wars.” 

“ So  thought  I,  Guy,  when  leaving  the  dear  old  castle ; 
but  keep  thou  near  thy  Master,  beloved.  Dost  love  our 
Lord,  Guy  ? ” 

“ Not  with  such  devotion  as  thou  dost,  Maude ; but  I pray 
for  light.” 

“And  he  giveth  thee  what  thou  askest,  Guy,  an  thou 
askest  only  in  Jesus’  name.” 

But  they  have  left  the  vessel  for  accommodations  on  the 
land ; and  the  baron,  finding  it  probable  that  the  fleet  would 
not  leave  Messina  very  soon,  placed  his  family  in  comfort- 
able quarters,  and  we  soon  find  them  domesticated  in  the 
delicious  climate  of  Sicily;  Maude  resuming  her  studies 
with  Wilfred,  and  enjoying  daily  strolls  in  the  charming 
neighborhood  of  Messina,  the  most  delightful  of  her  recrea^ 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM.  201 

tions  being  on  the  water,  with  no  companion  save  Guy  and 
the  boatman,  often  laying  down  his  oars  to  listen  to  the 
sweet  harmony  of  their  music. 

Serious  disturbances  soon  arose  between  Richard  and  Tan- 
cred,  followed  by  dissensions  between  the  Anglo-Normans 
and  the  Sicilians.  Richard  at  length  lost  control  of  his  hot 
temper,  and  fell  upon  the  people  who  had  come  forth  from 
Messina  to  be  revenged  upon  the  Normans  for  their  excesses, 
stormed  the  walls  of  the  city,  and  in  a short  time  the  ban 
ner  of  the  King  of  England  was  flying  over  the  capital  of 
Sicily.  This  was  a new  drop  of  bitterness  in  the  cup  of 
Philip  Augustus,  and  a coolness  rose  up  between  the  two 
monarchs  from  that  moment. 

But  the  conduct  of  Richard  was  calm  and  moderate  far 
beyond  his  usual  habits.  He  offered  to  give  up  the  guard 
of  the  city  to  either  the  Knights  of  the  Temple  or  of  St. 
John,  until  his  claims  upon  Tancred  had  been  fairly  met. 
This  quieted  matters  somewhat;  but  just  about  this  time, 
Queen  Eleanor,  Richard's  mother,  arrived  in  Sicily,  bring- 
ing with  her  the  beautiful  Berengaria,  Princess  of  Navarre. 
Richard  had  been  affianced  to  Alice,  Philip's  sister,  but 
difficulties  arising  between  the  parties,  Richard  had  long 
thought  of  breaking  oflT  an  alliance  that  every  day  became 
more  distasteful.  The  arrival  of  Berengaria  decided  him. 

Having  letters  in  his  possession  in  which  Philip  promised 
to  aid  the  Sicilians  in  case  of  a war  with  the  English,  Rich 
ard,  with  the  papers  in  his  hand,  in  full  gallop  rushed  to 
the  tent  of  the  French  monarch.  Philip  declared  them 
forged,  and  that  it  was  a mere  pretence  for  breaking  off*  the 


202 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


marriage.  High  words  passed  between  the  angry  monarchal 
and  it  does  not  appear  upon  record  how  war  was  avoided ; 
but  the  concessions  were  on  the  part  of  Philip,  who  re- 
nounced all  pretensions  to  Richard’s  hand  on  behalf  of  hia 
slstei  Alice,  confirmed  him  in  all  the  feoffs  which  he  held 
from  the  crown  of  France,  and,  leaving  him  and  Berengaria 
to  conclude  their  marriage,  set  sail  with  his  fleet  for  Acre. 

, The  appearance  of  the  French  fleet  before  that  place 
caused  great  joy  among  the  Christians  ; for,  notwithstanding 
the  efforts  on  the  part  of  the  assailants,  the  city  still  held 
out;  and  girt  in  themselves  by  the  army  of  Saladin,  the 
scarcity  was  little  less  in  their  camp  than  in  the  town.  For 
two  years  they  had  withstood  the  siege  of  the  crusaders, 
who  had  never  relaxed  their  efforts,  using  all  the  means 
that  human  ingenuity  could  invent  to  reduce  the  city. 

It  was  plain  now  that  nothing  but  assault  by  a large  force 
could  carry  the  fortress,  and  this  the  arrival  of  Philip  seemed 
to  promise. 

But  from  some  unknown  cause  of  delay,  the  King  of 
France  waited  for  the  arrival  of  Coeur  de  Lion,  contenting 
himself  with  battering  the  walls  in  the  meantime. 

The  coming  of  the  King  of  France  had  spread  much 
alarm  among  the  Saracens ; but  his  inactivity  quieted  their 
fears ; and  the  escape  of  a magnificent  white  falcon  which 
Philip  had  brought  from  Europe  was  considered  by  the  in- 
fidels as  an  evil  omen  for  the  French  monarch.  The  bird 
flew  into  the  besieged  city,  and  was  thence  sent  to  Saladin, 
who  would  not  part  with  it,  though  Philip  offered  ^ thou* 
sand  pieces  of  gold  for  his  favorite  falcon. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


20S 


But  to  return  awhile  to  Messina.  Berengaria  is  there 
under  the  protection  of  Queen  Elleanor,  and  we  find  the 
king  seeking  an  early  o{)portunity  to  make  her  acquainted 
with  the  ladies  of  the  De  Vere  household.  Lancelot  and 
Guy  are  appointed  to  conduct  the  party  into  the  presence 
of  royalty.  We  find  Queen  Eleanor  holding  her  court  in  a 
palace  of  the  capital,  surrounded  by  all  the  pomp  that  could 
be  obtained  in  a hurried  entrance,  for  a temporary  sojourn. 
Led  up  a flight  of  marble  steps,  they  are  on  the  piazza  of 
the  palace,  where  servitors  are  in  waiting  to  conduct  them 
into  the  royal  presence.  Passing  over  the  marble  floors  of  . 
the  great  vestibule,  they  are  in  the  midst  of  fountains  of 
cool  water  and  vases  of  charming  flowers,  whose  perfume 
fills  the  air.  Onward  through  two  or  three  antechambers, 
they  find  themselves  in  the  presence  of  the  royal  party. 

Queen  Eleanor,  of  majestic  presence,  was  a strong  con- 
trast to  the  almost  girlish  beauty  of  the  queen-consort ; for 
Berengaria  was  slight  in  figure,  graced  with  a complexion 
unusual  among  her  countrywomen,  a profusion  of  fair  hair, 
and  features  so  juvenile,  as  to  make  her  appear  younger 
than  she  really  was.  Under  the  consciousness  of  this  child- 
ish appearance,  she  practised  petulant  and  wilful  airs  of 
manner,  not  unbefitting,  as  she  thought,  a youthful  bride 
whose  rank  and  age  gave  her  a right  to  be  humored  and 
petted.  Full  of  little  graceful  whims,  sometimes  choosing 
to  be  a little  out  of  health,  at  others  out  of  spirits,  and  they 
who  waited  on  her  capricious  fancies  were  sometimes  at 
tlicir  wits’  end  to  kimw  what  to  do  next  to  {)lease  their  wil- 
ful mistress.  Just  now  sire  chose  to  be  especially  gracious  ; 


204 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


for  the  quiet  dignity  and  saintly  beauty  of  the  Lady  Maude 
and  the  noble  bearing  of  the  Lady  Jaqueline  impressed  the 
volatile  lady  with  a consciousness  that  she  was  in  the  pres- 
ence of  superior  persons ; although  the  royal  princess  knew 
not  that  in  the  form  of  the  gentle  girl  that  stood  before  her 
there  was  one  of  a royal  priesthood  that  should  one  day 
become  “ kings  and  priests  unto  God.”  After  the  ceremony 
of  introduction,  bidding  the  ladies  to  be  seated,  Berengaria 
addressed  the  Lady  Maude. 

‘‘  Takest  thou  the  cross  in  sooth,  fair  lady  ? ” 

‘‘In  the  Abbey  of  St.  Hilary,  the  Lady  Jaqueline  and 
Maude  de  Vere  took  the  cross  that  maketh  us  pilgrims; 
and  I trow  that  no  holier  cause  calleth  us  away  from  home 
and  native  land.” 

“ Art  tempted  to  turn  back.  Lady  Maude  ? ” 

“ Your  Royal  Highness  fo'*getteth  that  we  are  under  vows 
the  most  solemn,  and  to  turn  back,  I trow,  would  be  deadly 
sin.” 

“Thou  seeraest  a holy  saint.  We  take  the  cross,  too; 
but  there  seemeth  naught  of  the  devout  spirit  in  our  vow, 
the  glory  of  King  Richard  being  our  weighty  concern  in 
this  crusade.” 

The  interview  between  the  ladies  was  short  but  pleasant, 
and  several  such  hours  of  intercourse  were  passed  together 
at  Messina. 

Richard  remained  some  time  in  Sicily  enjoying  the  idle- 
ness and  luxury  of  a delicious  climate  and  a fertile  and 
beautiful  land ; in  the  fascinations  of  Berengaria^s  society 
almost  forgetting  his  dreams  of  conquest.  But  varioua 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


306 


celestial  phenomena,  which  the  superstition  the  age  at- 
tributed to  Divine  wrath,  and  the  preaching  of  Joachim, 
a wild  enthusiast,  awoke  him  from  his  supineness,  and  after 
submitting  to  a humiliating  penance,  he  set  sail  for  Acre. 
The  Baron  of  Hawksworth  was  on  board  of  one  of  the  gal- 
leys with  his  retinue,  but  deeply  chagrined  at  the  numbers 
and  enthusiasm  of  those  who  followed  his  rival  of  Ravens- 
cliff. 

A tempest  soon  dispersed  King  Richard’s  fleet,  and  three 
vessels  were  lost  upon  the  rocky  shores  of  Cyprus.  In  the 
madness  of  insatiable  greediness,  the  Emperor  of  Cyprus 
pillaged  the  crews  and  passengers  of  the  English  vessels 
stranded  on  the  coast,  and  refused  a refuge  to  the  bride 
and  sister  of  Richard  himself,  when  driven  by  a storm  into 
the  port  of  Limisso  at  Rhodes.  The  lion-hearted  king, 
getting  his  ships  together,  set  sail  for  Limisso,  and  de- 
manded reparation  and  apology.  With  more  moderation 
than  usual,  he  made  the  demand  three  times  before  pro- 
ceeding to  aggressive  measures.  Finding  at  length  that 
satisfaction  could  only  be  obtained  by  the  sword,  he  landed 
on  the  shore,  and  reduced  the  whole  island  to  his  sway. 
His  wrath  was  now  fully  aroused ; he  taxed  the  unfortu- 
nate inhabitants  of  the  country  to  an  enormous  extent ; and 
then,  after  spending  some  time  at  Limisso,  he  celebrated  his 
marriage  with  Berengaria,  and  once  more  set  sail  for  Acre. 
The  numbers  of  the  land  forces  have  not  been  recorded; 
but  the  magnitude  of  the  whole  armament  may  be  con- 
ceived of  when  it  is  said  that  there  were  fifty  galleys  of 
18 


206 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


war,  thirteen  large  store-vessels,  and  more  than  one  hum 
dred  transports  filled  with  horses  and  men.  In  a short  time, 
Richard,  with  his  fleet,  sped  rapidly  on  his  way  to  the  place 
of  destination,  having  been  detained  by  his  caprices  a period 
of  eighteen  months  since  his  departure  from  England. 

It  were  difficult  to  describe  Maude’s  emotions  as  they 
sailed  along  the  coast  of  the  Mediterranean.  The  blue 
skies  and  delightful  climate  of  Sicily  had  been  charming  to 
one  so  alive  to  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  they 'were  not  in- 
vested with  the  halo  of  glory  that  sanctified  every  spot  of 
Palestine  in  the  chambers  of  her  heart.  They  are  almost 
in  view  of  the  Holy  Land  ; the  winds  that  come  wafted  to 
them  from  the  shore  are  freighted  with  the  perfume  of  sweet 
orange  blossoms,  and  the  sun  is  setting  behind  the  distant 
hills  that  she  is  told  belong  to  Palestine. 

With  clasped  hands  she  sits  gazing  upon  the  shadowy  out- 
lines of  those  sacred  hills,  imagining  Tabor  and  Calvary  and 
Olivet ; with  heart-longings  she  strains  her  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Holy  City,  and  sighs  at  the  thought  of  the  pol- 
lutions of  the  sacred  places,  but,  most  of  all,  at  the  desecra- 
tion of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

In  a short  time,  Richard,  with  his  fleet,  arrived  before  the 
city  of  Acre ; and  if  Philip  had  been  jealous  at  the  iclai 
with  which  Coeur  de  Lion  entered  Messina,  he  must  have 
been  doubly  so  at  the  enthusiastic  joy  with  which  his  rival 
was  greeted.  No  doubt  Richard’s  own  proud  heart  beat 
ivith  unholy  joy  at  the  snouts  which  welcomed  his  arrival. 

The  spectacle  must  have  been  magnificent,  for  all  the 
proud  chivalry  of  Europe  were  upon  the  sandy  plain  be- 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


207 


tween  Ptolemais  and  the  mountains  of  Carouba : the  Tem- 
plars, the  Hospitallers,  the  Knights  of  France,  of  England, 
of  Germany,  of  Italy,  Flanders,  and  of  Burgundy. 

Thousands  of  gorgeous  banners  floated  on  the  wind ; and 
all  sorts  of  arms,  device,  and  ensign  glittered  through  the 
camp.  The  greatest  enthusiasm  prevailed,  for  they  were  in 
Palestine. 

The  mounted  cavalry  on  their  spirited  war-horses,  the 
glittering  armor,  the  plumed  helmets,  the  martial  music  of 
the  different  nations  playing  the  grand  prelude  of  the  cru- 
saders’ hymn,  which,  with  a chorus  of  tens  of  thousands 
of  manly  voices,  swelled  out  upon  the  air ; no  doubt  reach- 
ing Saladin’s  camp,  lying  on  the  inland  hills  with  all  the 
imposing  array  of  Eastern  pomp  and  luxury.  It  was  com- 
posed of  millions ; for  Saladin  had  called  out  the  pride  of 
all  the  Saracens  to  meet  the  swarming  invasion  of  the 
Christians. 

Through  that  vast  host  were  seen  banners  of  green,  black, 
and  yellow,  and  armor  of  as  many  kinds  and  of  as  great 
magnificence  as  that  of  the  Europeans.  No  sooner  was  the 
vast  encampment  fairly  settled  than  the  courtesies  of  chiv- 
alry were  exchanged  between  the  two  great  armies,  who, 
in  times  of  truce,  mingled  together  in  friendship,  sending 
mutual  presents  to  each  other. 

King  Richard’s  tent  was  large  and  roomy ; distinguished 
less  by  splendor  than  by  the  warlike  spirit  of  the  age. 
WeapoiB  offensive  and  defensive  were  scattered  about  the 
pavilion,  or  disposed  upon  the  pillars  that  supported  it. 
Skins  of  animals  slain  in  the  chase  were  stretched  upon  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


ground  or  extended  along  the  sides  of  the  tent ; and  upon  a 
heap  of  these  spoils  lay  three  wolf-hounds  of  the  largest 
size,  and  as  white  as  snow.  On  a small  table  close  to  the 
couch  was  placed  a shield  of  wrought  steel,  of  triangular 
form,  bearing  the  three  lions  passant — first  assumed  by  the 
chivalrous  monarch ; and  before  it  the  golden  circlet,  resem- 
bling much  a ducal  coronet,  only  higher  in  front  than 
behind,  which,  with  the  purple  velvet  and  embroidered 
tiara  that  lined  it,  formed  the  emblem  of  England’s  proud 
sovereign. 

Beside  it,  as  if  prompt  to  defend  the  regal  symbol,  lay  a 
mighty  curtle-axe,  which  would  have  wearied  the  arm  of 
any  other  than  Coeur  de  Lion.  In  an  outer  partition  of  the 
pavilion  waited  the  officers  of  the  royal  household,  ready  to 
attend  their  sovereign’s  bidding. 

The  only  luxurious  article  seen  in  the  monarch’s  tent 
vas  a small  divan,  richly  covered  with  purple  velvet  and 
Tinged  with  gold,  evidently  designed  for  the  queen  when 
visiting  her  royal  husband. 

Much  more  display  was  seen  in  the  pavilion  belonging  to  the 
queen.  The  doorway  was  formed  by  six  lances,  the  staves 
of  which  were  plated  with  silver,  and  the  blades  composed 
of  the  same  precious  metal.  Pitched  into  the  ground  by 
couples,  they  were  crossed  at  the  top,  so  as  to  form  a succes- 
sion of  arches,  which  were  covered  by  a drapery  of  pale 
blue  silk.  Covered  with  an  oriental  carpet,  the  couch  was 
such  as  became  the  youthful  queen.  Scattered  around  were 
small  ottomans,  richly  covered,  and  such  articles  of  taste  as 
were  indispensable  to  Berengaria.  By  the  side  of  her  couch 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


209 


lay  her  favorite  hound ; and  the  adjoining  apartment,  sepa- 
rated only  by  a curtain,  was  occupied  by  her  ladies  in 
waiting. 

The  tents  of  the  De  Veres  were  near  the  royal  pavilions, 
all  under  double  guard  at  night.  It  was  the  first  day  of 
encampment,  and  feeling  comparatively  at  rest,  Maude 
drew  aside  the  curtain  of  her  tent,  that  she  might  enjoy  the 
evening  breeze  after  a hot  and  sultry  day,  such  as  she  had 
never  known  in  England.  Her  eyes  were  turned  in  the 
direction  of  Jerusalem,  for  her  thoughts  were  there ; and, 
taking  her  cithern,  she  sang  with  heart-felt  expression  St 
Bernard’s  sweet  hymn  in  its  Latin  melody : 

“ Jerusalem,  the  golden ! 

With  milk  and  honey  blest. 

Beneath  thy  contemplation 

Sink  heart  and  voice  oppressed: 

I know  not,  oh  I know  not 
What  social  joys  are  there  I 
What  radiancy  of  glory, 

What  light  beyond  compare  I 

“They  stand,  those  halls  of  Zion, 

Conjubilant  with  scng, 

And  bright  with  many  an  angel. 

And  all  the  martyr  throng. 

The  Prince  is  ever  in  them ; 

The  daylight  is  serene; 

The  pastures  of  the  blessed 
Are  decked  in  glorious  sheen. 

18*  0 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


21 C 

• There  is  the  throne  of  David; 

And  there,  from  care  released. 

The  song  of  them  that  triumph, 

The  shout  of  them  that  feast: 

And  they  who  with  their  Leader 
Have  conquered  in  the  fight, 

Forever  and  forever 

Are  clad  in  robes  of  white  I 

“0  sweet  and  blessed  country! 

Shall  I ever  see  thy  face? 

0 sweet  and  blessed  country ! 

Shall  I ever  win  thy  grace? 

1 have  the  hope  within  me 
To  comfort  and  to  bless! 

Shall  I ever  win  the  prize  itself? 

0 tell  me,  tell  me  yes ! 

Exult,  0 dust  and  ashes, 

The  Lord  shall  be  thy  part; 

His  only.  His  forever 
Thou  shalt  be  and  thou  art.** 

We  give  tke  translation  of  the  sweet  old  Latin  hymn,  con- 
scious that  it  loses  much  of  its  melody  in  the  attempt.  The 
soft  music  stole  out  of  the  tent,  drawing  many  a rude  cru- 
bader  to  the  neighborhood,  where  two  or  three  reposing  on 
the  ground,  and  others  leaning  on  their  lances,  lingered  out 
of  sight  lest  they  should  disturb  the  singer.  The  Lady 
Jaqueline  entered  the  tent  quietly  and  took  her  seat  upon 
one  of  the  ottomans ; Gertrude  Ellerton  and  Bertha  Ducange 
occupying  the  others. 


MALDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


211 


**  We  have  had  a weary  voyage,  mother  mine,”  said  the 
singer,  laying  down  her  cithern,  “and  this  hour  of  evensong 
whispereth  of  rest ; but  I have  that,  good  mother,  sweeter 
than  the  loveliest,  even  the  words  of  our  Lord  and  Master.” 
Taking  the  manuscript  from  her  pocket,  she  continued : 
“ Shall  I read  some  of  his  blessed  w^ords  here  in  his  own 
land?” 

“ Thou  mayest,  Maude,  an  thou  likest.” 

“ Listen,  good  mother.” 

“ ‘ If  ye  love  me,  keep  my  commandments.’ 

“ ‘ And  I will  pray  the  Father,  and  he  shall  give  yon 
another  Comforter,  that  he  may  abide  with  you  forever ; 

“‘Even  the  Spirit  of  truth,  which  the  world  cannot  re- 
ceive, because  it  seeth  him  not,  neither  knoweth  him ; but 
ye  know  him;  for  he  dwelleth  with  you,  and  shall  be  in  you. 
“ ‘ I will  not  leave  you  comfortless.’ 

“ Seest  thou,  mother  mine  ? The  Lord  saith  ; ‘ I will  pray 
the  Father.’  He  sayeth  not  that  the  saints  pray  for  us,  but 
the  Lord  himself.” 

“To  whom  speaketh  the  Lord  these  good  words,  Maude ? ” 
“ To  his  own  disciples,  good  mother : but  when  he  pray- 
eth  for  them  before  he  leaveth  them,  he  saith : ‘ Neither 
pray  I for  these  alone,  but  for  them  also  which  shall  believe 
on  me  through  their  word.’  ” 

“ Sayeth  the  Gospt  1 so,  Maude  ? ” 

“ Certes  doth  it,  good  mother ; and  so  it  seemeth  that 
these  blessed  words  be  written  for  Maude  de  Vere ; for  I 
trow  that  I am  one  that  believeth  on  his  name.” 

“ There  is  nothing  to  fright  us,  Maude,  in  the  words  ol 
that  book.” 


212 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM 


‘‘  Naught  but  love,  mother  mine ; and  what  else  look  we 
for  from  him  that  hangeth  on  the  cross  for  us  ? 

Thus  the  two  communed  together  until  the  evening  twi- 
light deepened  — the  heat  of  a sultry  day  cooled  by  the 
breeze  that  came  wafted  to  them  from  the  coast,  and  the 
fair  moon  shining  down  in  her  placid  beauty  upon  the 
camp. 

Maude  continued  looking  at  the  crusaders  slowly  walk- 
ing through  the  passages  between  the  tents,  some  talking  of 
the  loved  at  home,  some  singing  a solemn  laud ; and  then, 
one  by  one  vanishing  from  sight,  drew  the  curtains  of  their 
tents  around  them  — each,  placing  his  huge  cross-handled 
sword  upright,  and  kneeling  before  it  as  the  sign  :f  salva- 
tion, told  his  rosary  with  a devotion  enhanced  by  the  con- 
sciousness that  his  orisons  were  performed  upon  holy 
ground. 

It  is  all  silent  now ; and  Maude,  fascinated  by  the  impres- 
sive scene,  is  gazing  at  the  vast  city  of  white  tents  gleaming 
in  the  moonlight,  the  banner  of  England  wa.ving  on  the  top 
of  St.  George’s  mount,  where  the  whole  camp  could  see  this 
proud  flaunting  of  superiority  in  the  very  face  of  Philip 
Augustus  and  Leopold  of  Austria.  Naught  is  seen  of  liv- 
ing creatures  but  the  sentinels;  and  Maude,  with  unusual 
fervor,  commits  herself  and  the  cause  she  loves  to  the 
Saviour  of  her  soul.  Now  the  moon  shines  down  upon  a 
sleeping  camp,  disturbed  only  by  the  heralds  calling,  in 
startling  tones,  at  stated  hours:  ‘‘Kemember  the  Holy 
Sepulchre ! ” the  crusaders’  watchword,  echoed  from  post  to 
post  by  the  sentinels  throughout  that  vast  city  of  white  tents. 


CHAFIER  X V 11 


THE  CAGED  LION. 

rpHE  haughty  King  of  England  had  no  s loner  settled 
in  Palestine  than  the  activity  of  his  spirit  infused  new 
life  into  the  crusade ; but  the  contemptuous  arrogance  with 
which  he  treated  the  princes  engaged  in  the  same  enter- 
prise created  enemies,  and  mutual  jealousies  took  posses- 
sion of  the  leaders.  Those  whom  he  chose  to  despise  were 
his  equals  in  rank,  yet  far  inferior  in  courage,  hardihood, 
and  military  talents. 

Such  dissensions,  especially  between  Richard  and  Philip 
Augustus,  threw  serious  obstacles  in  the  way  of  every  active 
measure  proposed  by  the  heroic,  but  impetuous  Richard, 
while  the  ranks  of  the  crusaders  were  much  thinned,  not 
only  by  the  desertion  of  individuals,  but  whole  bands  were 
led  off  by  their  feudal  leaders,  who  withdrew  from  a contest 
where  they  saw  so  little  hope. 

The  climate,  too,  did  its  deadly  work  among  the  soldiers 
of  the  north,  who,  owing  to  the  dissolute  license  which  pre- 
vailed, became  easy  victims  to  disease  contracted  by  burn- 
ing heats  and  chilling  dews. 

The  sword  of  the  enemy,  too,  destroyed  many  ; for  Saladin, 
iJbe  greatest  warrior  in  Eastern  history,  had  learned  that  his 

213 


214 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


light-armed  followers  were  not  able  to  meet  the  iron-clad 
Franks ; and  he  had  been  taught,  moreover,  to  dread  the 
daring  character  of  Coeur  de  Lion.  His  armies  had  been 
more  than  once  routed  with  great  slaughter ; but  his  num- 
bers gave  Saladin  the  advantage  in  lighter  skirmishes.  Aa 
Richard’s  army  decreased,  the  Saracen’s  enterprises  became 
more  numerous  and  bold.  The  camp  was  surrounded,  almost 
besieged,  by  swarms  of  light  cavalry,  like  so  many  wasps,  — 
easily  crushed  when  once  grasped,  but  furnished  with  wings 
to  elude  superior  strength,  and  stings  to  inflict  harm. 

There  were  perpetual  attacks  of  posts  and  foragers,  in 
which  many  lives  were  lost,  envoys  interrupted,  and  com- 
munications frequently  cut  off. 

The  crusaders  had  to  purchase  the  means  of  life  by  life 
Itself,  and  water  was  often  obtained  only  by  the  expenditure 
of  blood. 

But  the  stern  resolution  and  restless  activity  of  King 
Richard  were  equal  to  the  emergency ; and  we  find  him  with 
his  best  knights  ever  on  horseback,  ready  to  defend  any 
post,  often  bringing  unexpected  succor  to  the  Christians, 
and  defeating  the  infidels  when  most  secure  of  victory. 

His  favorite  young  knights,  Lancelot  de  Vere  and  Guy 
de  Mowbray,  were  ever  with  him  in  these'  skirmishes,  and 
they  had  learned  to  look  upon  the  courageous  King  of  Eng- 
land as  the  bravest  of  brave  knights,  and  he  upon  the  yc  ang 
crusaders  as  aids  to  be  relied  upon  in  times  of  the  greatest 
danger.  But  even  the  king’s  iron  frame  could  not  support 
without  injury  the  trying  climate  and  the  constant  exertion 
of  body  and  mind. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


216 


He  became  afflicted  with  oue  of  those  slow  and  wasting 
fevers  belonging  to  the  East  — at  first  unfit  to  ride  on  horse- 
back, and  then  unable  to  attend  the  councils  of  war  held  by 
the  leaders. 

It  were  hard  to  say  whether  this  inactivity  were  made 
more  galling  or  more  endurable  to  the  English  king  by  the 
resolution  of  the  council  to  conclude  a truce  of  thirty  days 
with  Saladin. 

It  was  at  the  close  of  a hot  Syrian  day,  when  King 
Richard  lay  helpless  on  his  couch,  chafing  under  these  re- 
ports of  supineness  that  were  brought  day  by  day  to  him, 
much  like  an  imprisoned  lion  seeing  his  prey  from  the  iron 
bars  of  his  cage. 

The  natural  irritability  of  his  temper  preyed  upon  itself. 
Dreaded  by  his  attendants,  even  medical  assistants  feared 
to  exercise  authority  over  the  impatient  monarch. 

One  faithful  friend  alone  dare  approach  him  at  all  times 
and  who  exercised  over  him  that  degree  of  wholesome  re- 
straint so  necessary  for  his  recovery ; for  the  Baron  of  Ra- 
venscliff  esteemed  his  sovereign’s  life  and  honor  more  than 
the  favor  with  which  he  might  regard  him  personally. 

Cceur  de  Lion  knew  Reginald  de  Vere  to  be  brave  and 
loyal,  fearing  not  even  the  king  in  the  performance  of  his 
duty.  We  find  him  at  this  time  seated  by  his  royal  master’s 
side,  at  the  close  of  this  hot  day ; the  king  tossing  from  side 
to  side  — now  clutching  the  coverings,  now  throwing  them 
impatiently  aside,  his  keen  blue  eye  burning  with  fever,  his 
features  showing  the  wasting  of  disease,  and  his  beard,  neg- 
lected and  uutrimmed,  had  overgrown  both  lips  and  chin. 


216 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


The  barou  had  not  laid  aside  his  buff  coat,  which  dis- 
played the  cross  cut  on  the  shoulder,  for  three  nights, 
snatching  only  a few  minutes*  repose  as  the  caprices  of  the 
king  might  allow. 

De  Vere  was  the  only  one  who  could  persuade  the  monarch 
to  take  his  medicines ; and  it  was  amusing  sometimes  to  see 
how,  like  a wilful  child,  Richard  would  at  last  submit  to  his 
firm  and  kindly  rule.  The  king  was  silent  for  a moment  or 
two,  and  turning  a keen  eye  upon  his  attendant,  he  said  ; 

“What  tidings  from  without,  De  Vere?  Our  knights 
compounding  gruel  and  furmety  ? our  ladies  become  devo- 
tees?” 

“ The  truce,  my  liege,  preventeth  activity ; and,  for  the 
ladies,  they  are  waiting  upon  the  queen  to  accomplish  theii 
vows  for  your  majesty’s  deliverance  from  sickness,  — a holy 
work,  I trow.” 

“What  delayeth  Philip  of  France?  and  that  dull  por- 
poise, Leopold  of  Austria,  and  him  of  Montserrat?  We 
know  that  a fever  fit  is  on  us ; but  what  aileth  them  ? A 
palsy  hath  seized  upon  them ; not  a spark  of  valor  left  in 
the  camp.  Give  me  my  battle-axe,  De  Vere.  Let  me  go.” 

And  raising  himself  painfully  upon  his  couch,  he  vio 
lently  swung  his  arm  over  his  head,  as  though  wielding  that 
instrument  of  war,  his  eye  glaring  with  the  excitement  cf 
fever.  De  Vere,  exercising  some  force,  obliged  the  mon«irch 
to  lie  down,  saying : 

“ Be  calm,  my  liege ! Such  violence  only  injure tK  thee 
and  prejudiceth  our  cause  without ; for  loud  words  are  L^rd 
outside  the  tent  and  not  always  by  loyal  friends.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


217 


“But  tell  US;  De  Vere,  why  should  Richard’s  illness 
check  the  march  of  thirty  thousand  men  as  brave  as  him- 
self? Why  chooseth  not  the  council  some  one  who  will 
lead  to  action  ? ” 

“ There  are  rumors  that  such  councils  have  already  been 
held?” 

“ Ha  ! ” exclaimed  the  king.  “ Sayest  thou  so,  De  Vere  ? 
And  whom  would  they  appoint  to  lead  the  Christian  host  ? ” 
“ Rank  pointeth  to  the  King  of  France.” 

The  king  laughed  in  scornful  derision. 

“Philip  of  France  and  Navarre!  his  most  Christian 
majesty  1 He  might  make  sore  mistakes ; for  Philip  is  more 
bent  upon  oppressing  his  feudatories  and  pillaging  his  allies 
than  fighting  for  the  Holy  Sepulchre.” 

“ There  is  the  Archduke  of  Austria.” 

“ Out  upon  him  ! I tell  thee  that  Austria  careth  only 
for  a flagon  of  Rhenish  wine  to  drink  with  the  herds  of 
Dutch  swine  that  herd  around  him  I ” 

“ What  sayest  your  majesty  to  the  gallant  Marquis  of 
Montserrat?  ” 

“De  Vere,  thou  trespassest  beyond  my  patience.  Mont- 
serrat the  popinjay  to  lead  the  Christian  hosts!  He 
changeth  his  purpose  as  often  as  the  trimmings  of  his 
doublet.  He  a brave  man-at-arms,  truly!  A valorous 
knight  is  he,  whose  sword  is  blunted  at  point  and  edge,  I 
tri:>w ! ” 

“I  see  how  it  is,  my  liege,”  replied  De  Vere.  “ We  pray 
nv)t  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre  until  heaven  restoreth  « King 
Richard.  * 


19 


218 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM 


The  king  laughed,  evidently  pleased,  as  he  replied : 

‘‘Wouldst  hear  thy  king’s  confession,  De  Vere?  The 
Christian  camp  hath  many  a better  knight  than  King  Rich- 
ard, and  it  were  wise  to  place  such  over  the  host ; but  were 
such  a knight  to  succeed  in  planting  the  cross  upon  the 
Holy  Temple,  an’  Richard  Plantagenet  had  no  part  in  the 
task,  he  should  have  my  challenge  to  mortal  combat.  Mark 
that,  De  Vere ! ” 

Just  then  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  and  the  Archbishop  of 
Tyre  entered  the  pavilion. 

‘‘  What  meaneth  thy  fierce  eye,  my  liege  ? ” inquired  the 
latter. 

“ Scanning  the  brave  leaders  of  the  Christian  host,”  re- 
plied the  king.  ‘‘  Not  one  of  them  ready  to  advance  upon 
the  fortress ; building  trenches  and  palisades  to  protect  the 
camp,  forsooth  ! as  though  afraid  of  an  attack  from  Saladin, 
instead  of  marching  straight  on  to  the  town  as  proud  assail- 
ants.” 

“ There  lacketh  the  presence  of  King  Richard,”  said  the 
prelate.  ‘‘  But  it  hath  been  long  since  we  have  had  a pro- 
cession of  the  host  through  the  camp.  Perchance  the  holy 
presence  inspireth  the  faithful  with  new  zeal.” 

Certes,  and  that  is  a bright  thought ! ” said  Sir  Bryan. 
“ An  the  holy  father  hath  some  miracle  to  tell,  it  would 
rouse  the  camp.” 

Next  day,  at  the  matin  hour,  the  archbishop  bearing  the 
Host,  the  bishops  and  priests  in  their  richest  vestments,  with 
the  holy  cross,  symbolic  banners,  and  swinging  incense,  all 
chanting  the  Royal  Banners,  passed  through  the  camp ; the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


219 


king^s  tent  thrown  open,  and  the  whole  camp  prostrating 
themselves  in  mute  adoration  as  the  host  passed  by. 

Stopping  at  St.  George's  mount,  the  archbishop  took  his 
stand  on  an  elevation  that  enabled  him  to  overlook  the 
camp,  and  in  clear,  loud  tones,  thus  addressed  the  army : 

‘‘  Soldiers  of  the  holy  cross ! in  the  very  presence  of  the 
Lord  himself,  I come  to  ask  what  meaneth  the  stupor  that 
hath  stolen  over  the  camp?  Who  doubteth  that  the  Lord 
is  with  us?  As  in  the  glorious  days  of  the  first  crusade,  so 
now,  the  saints  are  seen  fighting  for  us ; for  last  night,  af 
the  midnight  hour,  forms  clothed  in  white,  mounted  oi 
white  horses,  were  seen  by  many  fighting  in  the  air  over  th' 
camp.  No  doubt  one  was  St.  Peter  himself,  and  one  wa^ 
the  holy  Saint  Godfrey  de  Bouillon.  Such  visions  ha\^ 
ever  been  seen  before  a victory ; and  now,  when  the  leader^ 
call  to  the  warfare,  let  every  valiapt  soldier  be  ready." 

One  universal  shout  went  up  from  the  camp,  “ God  will*» 
it!  God  wills  it!"  and  amid  the  newly-kindled  enthusi- 
asm, the  procession  marched  on,  singing  now  the  palmer's 
hymn. 

A council  of  war  met  that  evening  in  the  tent  of  Philip 
Augustus,  where  there  was  a stormy  debate.  As  soon  as  it 
was  ascertained  that  Bichard  counselled  immediate  advance, 
the  King  of  France  held  back  simply  to  mortify  his  rival ; 
and  thus  another  opportunity  was  lost. 

It  was  seen,  however,  that  there  must  soon  be  activity,  or 
farther  departures  from  the  army  ; and,  without  the  knowl- 
edge of  the  English  king,  Philip  made  the  attack,  but  waa 
repulsed. 


220 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


This  independent  conduct  incensed  the  fiery  lion  of  Eng- 
land, who,  in  his  turn,  ordered  an  advance,  which  was  also 
unsuccessful.  Necessity  at  length  brought  some  degree  of 
concord,  and  it  was  agreed  that  while  one  wing  assailed  the 
walls,  the  other  should  guard  the  camp.  Still  these  eflTorts 
were  ineflhctual;  for  new  causes  of  dissension  sprang  up 
daily,  and  portions  of  the  army  were  called  off  to  defend 
posts  around  the  camp. 

Rivalry  became  still  more  fierce ; for  Philip  endeavored 
to  seduce  the  vassals  of  Richard  to  enlist  under  his  banner, 
as  sovereign  of  their  sovereign,  by  paying  three  gold  pieces 
a month  to  each  of  the  Norman  knights  who  would  join  his 
standard ; and  Richard,  in  his  turn,  offered  four,  and  many 
a French  feudatory  joined  himself  to  the  English  king. 
Lancelot  and  Guy  were  devoted  to  Richard  ; and  the  former, 
anxious  for  his  recovery,  brought  a Moorish  physician  of 
great  renown  to  minister  to  his  maladies.  The  king  at  first 
displayed  not  a little  suspicion ; but  the  persuasions  of 
Berengaria  overcame  his  reluctance,  and  we  find  him  in- 
stalled in  the  pavilion. 

The  physician  felt  his  pulse  for  a long  time,  while  all 
around  stood  silent.  The  sage  next  filled  a cup  with  spring 
water,  and  dipped  into  it  a small  red  purse  which  he  took 
from  his  bosom.  ^ 

When  he  thought  it  sufficiently  medicated,  he  offered  it 
to  the  king.  Raising  himself  in  bed,  he  drained  the  cup  to 
the  bottom,  resigned  it  to  the  physician,  and  sank  back  upon 
the  cushions  which  were  arranged  to  receive  him. 

With  silent  but  expressive  signs,  the  physician  motioned 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


221 


that  all  should  retire  save  himself  and  De  Vere,  ivho  abso 
lutely  refused  to  withdraw. 

Hours  passed ; the  deep  sleep  undisturbed  by  a carousal 
given  by  the  archduke  to  bystanders  around  his  pavilion, 
which  alarmed  the  whole  camp  with  their  uproar. 

But  the  critical  hour  had  arrived  when  the  physician, 
according  to  the  rules  of  his  art,  had  said  that  the  patient 
might  be  awakened  with  safety,  and  the  sponge  was  applied 
for  that  purpose.  The  leech  had  not  made  many  observa- 
tions ere  he  assured  De  Vere  that  the  fever  had  left  him 
and  that  such  was  the  vigor  of  the  monarch’s  constitution 
it  would  not  be  necessary  to  give  a second  dose.  The  king 
himself  was  of  the  same  opinion,  for,  sitting  up  and  rubbing 
his  eyes,  he  inquired  of  De  Vere  what  sum  of  money  was  in 
the  royal  coffers.  The  leech  interrupted  the  reply  by  his 
own  remark: 

“I  sell  not  the  wisdom  that  Allah  hath  given  me  for 
gold,  great  prince ; for  the  divine  medicine  would  lose  all 
its  effect  did  I exchange  its  virtues  for  gold.” 

The  queen  had  waited  anxiously  in  the  adjoining  parti- 
tion, and  now,  hearing  sounds  in  the  pavilion,  she  gently 
put  aside  the  curtain  ai/d  hastened  to  the  couch. 

^‘Art  better,  my  liege?”  inquired  her  majesty,  at  the 
same  time  taking  the  large  hand  within  her  delicate  palm. 

Passing  his  fingers  caressingly  through  the  light  curls,  he 
replied  : 

“ The  fever  hath  gone.  The  pulse  is  quiet  as  thine,  Ber- 
engaria.  Dost  see  any  gleam  of  fire  in  the  eye  now  ? ” 

‘‘  None  now,  my  liege,  but  what  becometh  Richard  Plan 
19 


222 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


tagenet ; but  methinketh  that  thy  lion  nature  rouseth  itself 
ere  long.” 

Throwing  his  arm  over  his  head,  as  though  brandishing 
his  battle-axe,  he  replied : 

‘‘Certes!  there  will  be  stirring  in  the  camp  anon  an 
Richard  be  on  his  feet  to  rouse  the  sleepers.” 

‘‘Words  speaketh  not  our  thanks,  wise  leech,”  said  the 
queen,  turning  to  the  physician ; “ for  the  king  seemeth 
himself  again.” 

Making  a profound  obeisance,  the  leech  replied : 

“ To  Allah  be  all  the  praise,  fair  queen  ! ” And  putting 
aside  the  curtain,  he  left  the  pavilion. 

Maude  had  frequently  asked  herself  how  she  had  fulfilled 
her  mission  in  taking  up  the  cross ; for  thus  far  she  had 
been  in  a state  of  listless  inactivity,  greatly  affected  by  the 
intense  heat  of  the  burning  climate. 

Outside  of  the  camp,  the  Templars  and  Knights  of  St. 
John  had  charge  of  the  hospital  tents,  generally  full  of  the 
sick  and  wounded,  for  there  were  plenty  of  sufferers  at  all 
times  throughout  the  siege.  It  had  been  estimated  that 
during  the  German  crusade  no  less  than  three  hundred 
thousand  had  died,  and  an  equal  number  among  the  Sara- 
cens. 

Asking  for  a safe-conduct,  Maude  entered  her  litter,  and 
bent  her  course  toward  these  tents  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp. 

The  Knights  of  St.  John  were  much  more  useful  and  be- 
loved than  the  Templars,  who,  though  they  made  great  pro- 
fessions of  poverty  and  humility,  were  at  this  time  one  of 


MAUDE  AND  ]Vf  I E T A M. 


223 


the  richest  as  well  as  the  most  haughty  of  the  European 
orders.  One  of  the  knights,  in  his  long  white  robe,  met 
Maude  at  the  entrance,  and,  leading  her  forward  into  his 
own  tent,  pointed  to  a rude  divan  on  the  inside. 

Art  come  to  do  service  for  the  Lord,  fair  lady  ? ’’  in- 
quired the  knight. 

“ I took  the  cross,  sir  knight,”  was  the  reply,  “ not  to 
waste  my  days  in  ease  while  the  soldiers  of  the  cross  are  in 
need  of  my  poor  service.  Can  I do  aught  for  their  com 
fort?” 

“ Thou  shalt  see  speedily,”  was  the  reply,  “ an’  thou  fol- 
lowest  me,  fair  lady.” 

Passing  through  wards  where,  on  lowly  beds,  languished 
scores  of  wan  sufferers,  some  in  the  anguish  of  recent  wounds, 
others  tossing  with  fever,  all  in  need  of  woman’s  ministry, 
Maude  saw  her  work. 

At  the  extremity  of  one  of  the  wards,  her  attention  was 
attracted  toward  a lady,  who,  with  noiseless  step  and  gentle 
motions,  was  passing  among  the  sufferers,  followed  at  a dis- 
tance by  an  attendant  in  Oriental  garb.  Tall  and  grace- 
ful, she  was  dressed  in  loose  white  robes,  the  under  gar- 
ment confined  at  the  waist  by  a girdle  clasped  with  an 
emerald  set  in  gold.  Her  head  and  face  were  closely  veiled, 
excepting  now  and  then,  as  she  stooped  to  speak  words 
of  kindness,  the  hand  slightly  threw  it  aside,  disclos- 
ing a face  of  great  beauty:  so  thought  Maude,  as  she 
caught  fitful  glimpses  of  the  lady.  She  seemed  to  be  well 
known  among  the  patients  ; for  each  face  lit  up  with  a sickly 
%iuile  of  welcome  as  she  administered  cool  drinks  and  grate- 


224 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


fill  refreshment  to  the  weary.  Turning  frequently  into  a 
small  tent,  she  returned  with  h-er  tray  of  delicacies,  which 
she  administered  with  her  own  tender  hand. 

“ CJanst  tell  me  that  lady’s  name,  sir  knight  ? ” inquired 
Maude,  pointing  to  the  graceful  figure. 

The  knight  smiled,  as  he  replied : 

Thou  wilt  start  when  I tell  thee  that  that  lady  is  a 
Jewess,  one  of  the  despised  race;  but,  albeit,  she  is  the  most 
devoted  of  all  that  wait  upon  the  sufferers.” 

Maude  changed  color ; for  she  had  been  taught  to  despise 
tlie  race  that  had  prucified  her  Lord  and  Master. 

‘‘  Pity  that  one  so  fair  should  belong  to  a race  so  foul ! ” 
“ Her  name  is  Miriam,  the  daughter  of  Mordecai  the  Jew, 
a rich  old  man  that  liveth  outside  of  Acre,  in  one  of  the 
bravest  houses  of  this  Eastern  land.  The  daughter’s  kind- 
ness to  the  crusaders  hath  preserved  house  and  home  from 
outrage  throughout  the  whole  siege.” 

“ How  cometh  it  that  she  is  welcomed  by  the'  crusaders, 
sir  knight  ? Forsooth ! methinketh  it  strange,  very  strange  ; 
for  Jew  and  Saracen  alike  we  look  upon  as  mortal  foes.” 

“ She  hath  a woman’s  heart,  fair  lady,  and  a purse  open 
at  all  times  for  the  suffering,  — Jew,  Christian,  or  Saracen  ; 
but,  most  of  all,  it  is  a woman,  weak  and  defenceless,  that 
cometh  to  these  rude  soldiers,  and  the  sword  of  a true 
knight  defendeth  such.” 

Just  then  the  lady  turned,  and  advanced  toward  the  two, 
on  her  way  cut.  Sir  Joselyn  bowed  low  as  she  passed  by, 
and,  looking  at  Maude  with  her  eloquent  dark  eyes,  the 
Jewess  smiled  upon  the  Norman  lady,  welcoming  lier  to 


MAUDE  ANB  MIRIAM. 


225 


labors  of  love,  although  she  wore  the  crusader’s  cross  upon 
her  shoulder.  Conducted  by  the  Hospitaller  still  farthei*, 
he  pointed  out  such  as  needed  most  care.  But  they  are  near 
the  couch  of  an  expiring  soldier.  By  his  side  there  stands 
a priest,  holding  the  crucifix  before  his  dying  eyes,  and 
Maude  hears  the  tender  words  : 

‘‘  Look  at  the  Lord  that  died  thereon,  my  son,  not  at  the 
wooden  cross,”  and  kneeling  by  the  couch,  the  priest  added 
to  the  offices  of  the  Church  such  a prayer  as  Maude  had 
never  heard  from  the  lips  of  a priest  of  Rome.  Rising,  he 
took  the  pale  hands  between  his  own,  and  murmured : 
‘‘Farewell,  my  son.  We  meet  at  the  gates  of  paradise.” 
Turning  to  another,  his  eyes  fell  upon  Maude.  The  brow 
was  fair  and  broad,  the  dark  eyes  serene  and  holy,  and  the 
smile  with  which  he  greeted  the  lady  was  one  that  could 
not  easily  be  forgotten. 

“Welcome,  fair  lady,”  said  the  priest,  “to  this  holy  mi/5- 
sion ; for  weary  sufferers  need  the  gentle  hand  of  woman. 
There  are  many  sisters  of  the  Holy  Church  among  us ; but 
thou  wilt  find  thy  work.” 

“ Who  is  it,  sir  knight  ? ” inquired  Maude,  as  the  prieat 
passed  in. 

“Father  Matthias,”  replied  Sir  Joselyn ; “one  of  the 
holiest  of  the  priests.  Another  St.  Bernard,  I trow.” 

This  was  Maude’s  first  visit,  but  it  was  not  her  last;  fcr 
her  deepest  sympathies  were  all  awake  for  the  lowly  suf- 
ferers in  the  tents  of  the  Hospitallers ; nor  could  she  forg(;t 
the  impression  made  by  the  one  glance  from  the  eyes  of 
Miriam  the  Jewess,  nor  the  saintly  face  of  Father  Matthias. 

P 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

II /T  AUDE’S  deep  acquaintance  with  the  spirituality  of  the 
Gospel  had  brought  her  into  real  fellowship  with  the 
Lord  Jesus ; and  we  find  her  not  only  partaking  of  the  free 
gift  of  redemption  through  his  blood,  but  the  genuine  fruits  of 
union  with  the  Saviour  appear  in  her  daily  life,  purifying  its 
inner  fountain,  dictating  its  words  and  actions ; for  in  all  ages, 
“ if  any  man  have  not  the  spirit  of  Christ,  he  is  none  of  his.” 
Consequently,  the  romance  of  the  crusader’s  lot  is  fading ; 
and  in  the  midst  of  a camp  of  rude  and  dissolute  soldiers 
much  reaches  her  pure  ear  that  shocks  her  inner  sense. 
Sensuality,  impurity,  blasphemy,  cruelty,  fill  the  air,  — all 
abounding  in  the  lives  of  those  who  are  most  rigid  observers 
of  the  forms  of  Holy  Church,  worshippers  of  the  blessed 
Virgin.  Maude  reads  daily  the  records  of  that  pure  and 
spotless  life  as  seen  in  the  Gospel,  and  wonders  how  it  is 
that  his  followers  should  be  not  only  so  impure,  but  the 
leaders  so  proud,  so  arrogant,  so  supremely  worldly. 

The  crusader  saw  only  the  chief  spirit  of  a great  military 
order  in  the  person  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind,  for  whose 
glory  he  fought,  thinking  verily  that  thus  they  did  the 

226 


MACTDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


227 


.Lord  good  service ; but  Maude  saw  the  bright  exemplar  of 
all  that  was  pure,  holy  and  heavenly,  whose  kingdom  wag 
not  of  this  world. 

Fellowship  with  Jesus  had  filled  the  young  heart  with 
desires  to  do  his  will,  and  Maude  could  not  imagine  that  a 
mere  pilgrimage  to  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  gazing  upon 
places  sacred  in  the  history  of  redemption,  could  comprise 
all  of  Christian  duty ; and  so  we  find  her  daily  rising  from 
the  contemplation  of  his  blessed  word  with  increasing  de- 
sires to  be  like  her  Master,  — lowly,  loving,  pure,  holy,  un- 
selfish. She  had  caught  the  inspiration  from  the  study 
of  the  blessed  picture,  being  “changed  into  the  same 
image  from  glory  to  glory,  even  as  by  the  Spirit  of  the 
Lord.” 

Daily  we  find  her  wending  her  way  to  the  hospital,  where 
the  wan  sufferers  had  learned  to  welcome  her  presence. 
Very  sweet  are  the  readings  from  her  book,  very  soothing 
are  her  holy  hymns. 

There  are  many  wards  to  visit,  and  sometimes  it  is  days 
before  she  and  Miriam  meet  in  their  holy  work.  But,  to- 
day, Maude  is  seated  by  the  side  of  a dying  soldier,  who 
turns  his  eyes  upon  the  face  of  the  young  reader  with 
beaming  looks  of  gratitude  and  devotion.  Miriam  has  been 
some  time  moving  among  her  patients  with  her  basket  of 
pomegranates,  and  tarries  awhile  by  the  couch  next  to 
Maude,  that  she  may  hear  the  words  that  proceed  from  her 
lips. 

In  sweet,  low  tones  she  was  reading  the  fourteenth  chap* 
ter  of  St.  John. 


228 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


I am  the  way,  the  truth,  and  the  life : no  man  cometh  . 
unto  the  Father,  but  by  me.” 

“ Hearest  thou  the  Gospel,  Sir  Kaymond  ? Jesus  saith 
that  he  is  the  way.  There  is  no  need  of  saint  or  Holy  Vir- 
gin to  pray  for  us ; for  an  there  be,  our  Lord  telleth  us  that 
in  his  Gospel ; and  there  is  not  one  word  of  such  like  in  the 
holy  book.” 

“ Sinful  men  are  we.  Lady  Maude.  Meseemeth  that  we 
dare  not  come  so  nigh  the  Lord.” 

“ Jesus  knoweth  it  well,  Sir  Raymond.  He  hath  done  all 
the  work  of  redemption  for  us.” 

‘‘  What  must  a dying  sinner  do,  Lady  Mauae  ? ” 

“ Let  me  read  his  own  words,  and  then  be  thou  thankful. 

‘ For  God  so  loved  the  world,  that  he  gave  his  only  begot- 
ten Son,  that  whosoever  believeth  in  him  should  not  perish, 
but  have  everlasting  life.’  ^ Whosoever,’  Sir  Raymond. 
That  is  the  Gospel.  Thou  believest,  dost  thou  not?” 

“ I trust  so ; ” and  raising  the  crucifix  that  lay  by  his 
side,  he  murmured  : Thou  who  didst  die  for  sinners,  have 

mercy  upon  me.” 

‘‘  Shall  I sing  for  thee,  Sir  Raymond  ? 

“ Thou  mayest,  lady ; for  thy  hymns  come  to  me  like  the 
chants  of  angels.” 

“ Jesu,  name  all  names  above; 

Jesu,  best  and  dearest, 

Jesu,  fount  of  perfect  love. 

Holiest,  tenderest,  nearest! 

Jesu,  source  of  grace  completest ; 

Jesu  truest,  Jesu  sweetest; 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


229 


Jesu,  well  of  power  divine, 

Make  me,  keep  me,  seal  me  Thine  I ' 

'"*  Thou  didst  call  the  prodigal ; 

Thou  didst  pardon  Mary; 

Thou  whose  words  can  never  fall, 

Love  can  never  vary. 

Lord,  amid  my  lost  condition. 

Give  — for  Thou  canst  give  — contrition  I 
Thou  canst  pardon  all  my  ill ; 

If  Thou  wilt,  0 say,  ‘ I will ! * 

**  Jesu,  crowned  with  thorns  for  me, 

Scourged  for  my  transgression  I 
Witnessing  through  agony 
' That  Thy  good  confession ! 

Jesu,  clad  in  purple  raiment, 

For  my  evils  making  payment,^ 

Let  not  all  thy  woe  and  pain, 

Let  not  Calvary  be  in  vain. 

“ When  I reach  Death’s  bitter  sea, 

And  its  waves  roll  higher. 

Help  the  more  forsaking  me. 

As  the  storm  draws  nigher. 

Jesu,  leave  me  not  to  languish, 

Helpless,  hopeless,  full  of  anguish ! 

Tell  me:  ‘Verily,  I say, 

Thou  shalt  be  with  me  to-day.*” 

/ 

Miriam  listened  to  the  holy  hymn  with  deep  earnestness ; 
and  when  Maude  laid  down  her  cithern,  she  advanced,  ex- 
tending her  hand. 

90 


230 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


We  must  be  no  longer  strangers,  Lady  Maude ; for  we 
are  engaged  in  the  same  work  of  comforting  the  sorrowful 
and  suffering/’ 

Maude  raised  her  eyes  to  the  face  of  the  Jewess,  and  saw 
naught  there  but  tenderness  and  womanly  feeling;  and 
taking  the  offered  hand,  she  replied : 

It  pleaseth  me  much  to  know  thee,  fair  lady ; for  I trow 
that  we  are  in  the  midst  of  the  sufferers  of  all  nations.” 
Miriam  smiled,  as  she  replied  : 

‘‘Then  thou  wouldst  not  ask.  Lady  Maude,  whether 
Christian,  Jew,  or  Saracen  lie  upon  these  couches.” 

“ I trow  not ; for  they  are  children  of  a common  Father.” 
Seated  now  side  by  side,  the  two  ministers  of  mercy  — one 
i)f  the  Old,  the  other  of  the  New  Testament  — communed  to- 
gether of  the  scenes  through  which  both  had  passed,  the 
Jewess  offering  her  delicious  fruit  for  Maude’s  patients. 

Miriam  glanced  at  the  book  in  the  hands  of  the  Norman 
lady,  remarking : 

“ Thou  readest  from  thy  book  very  good  words,,  lady,  an’ 
they  were  only  true.” 

“ They  are  our  Lord’s  own  words.” 

“ How  knowest  thou,  lady  ? ” 

“ The  Holy  Church  hath  taught  us  so.  Thou  believest 
in  the  Messiali,  Miriam,  dost  thou  not?” 

“ In  one  that  is  yet  to  come,  lady,  who  will  restore  our 
ancient  kingdom,  and  bring  back  our  scattered  people  to 
their  own  land.” 

“Then  what  thinkest  thou  of  Christ,  fair  Miriam?” 

“ I am  not  of  those  that  despise  thy  Master,  Lady  Maude ; 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


231 


fbr  our  own  rabbis  say  that  there  dwelt  in  Judea  a long 
time  syth  a good  man  of  pure  and  holy  life,  very  benevolent 
and  merciful,  calling  himself  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  as  such 
a good  man,  I honor  him  whom  you  call  Master.” 

‘‘  Nor  despise  I thy  people,  Miriam,  for  our  dear  Lord 

* 

was  a Jew  ; and  I trow  that  it  were  hard  to  forget  that.  But 
how  cometh  it,  Miriam,  that  thou  devotest  thy  time  and 
money  to  those  who  despise  thy  people?” 

‘‘The  God  of  our  fathers  was  a God  not  only  of  justice 
and  truth,  but  one  of  love  and  mercy ; and  I doubt  not  he 
acknowledgeth  the  work  in  this  hospital  as  one  that  pleas- 
eth  him.” 

“ Thou  must  learn  to  love  our  dear  Lord  as  thine  own  Mes- 
siah, Miriam.” 

The  young  Jewess  smiled,  as  she  replied : 

“ That  were  a hard  task  for  one  brought  up  at  the  feet  of 
the  most  learned  of  our  rabbis ; but  we  can  love  to  do  the 
same  good  work,  only  with  a different  faith.  Lady  Maude. 
But  thou  must  come  to  our  house ; for  I trow  that  life  in  a 
tent  is  not  very  comfortable.” 

“ I came  not  for  comfort,  Miriam ; for  our  Lord  passed 
many  weary  days  and  nights  in  this  land,  hungry  and 
thirsty, — for  he  had  not  where  to  lay  his  dear  head;  and 
the  servant  lefuseth  not  to  follow  the  footsteps  of  his  Lord.” 
“But  thou  wilt  come,  Lady  Maude.  My  father  and 
Aunt  Esther  welcome  thee  for  my  sake.” 

“Just  as  my  mother  willeth,  Miriam.*  It  pleaseth  me 
much  to  say  yea  to  thy  kindness.” 

Parting  at  the  entrance  of  the  hospital,  each  lady  en- 


232 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


tered  her  litter,  mutually  pleased  with  their  short  interview 
among  the  wounded. 

Just  as  Maude  was  about  to  move  off,  Father  Matthias 
stepped  up  to  her  side,  saying : 

“ I heard  thy  reading,  lady,  to  Sir  Raymond.  Whence 
didst  get  the  blessed  Gospel  ? ” 

“ In  the  old  castle  of  Ravenscliff,  father,  where  I copied 
it  from  one  lent  me  by  Father  Ambrose.” 

‘‘Would  that  I might  read  thy  copy,  lady;  for  I have 
never  seen  the  Gospel.” 

“ Canst  read  our  language,  father  ? ” 

“ I learned  to  read  it  in  the  monastery  of  St.  Alban’s, 
Lady  Maude.” 

“ Canst  write,  father  ? ” 

“An’  thou  lendest  me  thy  book,  daughter,  I faithfully 
return  the  same.” 

“ Thou  art  welcome,  father.  They  are  our  Lord’s  dear 
words.  They  bring  light  and  love  to  all  who  ask  for  guid- 
ance.” 

Handing  her  copy  to  the  priest,  she  directed  the  bearers 
to  move  on ; and  Father  Matthias  said,  on  parting : 

“ Heaven  bless  thee,  daughter ! ” 

Maude  had  much  to  tell  her  mother  on  her  return  that 
day ; especially  anxious  to  visit  Miriam  the  Jewess. 

“ What  sayest  thou,  good  mother,  to  such  a visit  ^ ” said 
the  young  lady. 

“Dost  remember,  Maude,  that  the  Jews  crucified  our 
Lord?  Meseemeth  that  we  think  of  them  only  as  ene  . 

mies.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


233 


But  this  lair  Miriam  hath  no  evil  feelings  toward  our 
Lord ; and  who  knoweth  what  cometh  of  such  like  visits, 
good  mother?’’ 

‘‘  Thou  mayest  go,  Maude ; for  thou  lookest  pale  and 
weary  after  thy  labors  in  the  hospital.  Thou  must  not  get 
sick,  Maude.” 

In  a day  or  two  Miriam  drew  up  to  the  tent  of  the  De 
Veres  in  her  litter,  bent  upon  taking  Maude  back  with  her. 

“ I came  before  the  day  shineth  hot  upon  us,”  said  Miriam, 
apologizing  for  her  early  call,  ‘‘  and  will  return  after  the 
sun  sinketh  behind  the  hills.” 

The  ladies  of  the  tent  were^  charmed  with  the  graceful  man- 
ners of  the  fair  Jewess,  and  wished  Maude  a happy  day. 

Just  outside  of  Acre,  amidst  a grove  of  palm-trees,  we  find 
the  house  of  Mordecai  the  Jew,  surrounded  by  every  indica- 
tion of  great  wealth.  The  house  was  built  in  Oriental  style ; 
the  court-yard  in  the  centre,  with  apartments  surrounding. 
Maude  was  led  through  an  entrance  paved  with  fine  marble, 
and  filled  with  vases  of  charming  flowers,  into  the  chief 
apartment,  separated  from  the  vestibule  by  thin  curtains 
suspended  on  gilt  rings,  where  two  attendants  met  them. 
Around  this  room,  which  was  also  paved  with  marble, 
were  spread  rich  divans,  and  a few  small  tables  elegantly 
inlaid  with  bright  colors.  Vases  of  flowers  stood  around  ; 
in  the  centre  played  a fountain  of  Damascene  rose-water. 
Two  attendants,  in  Eastern  dress,  with  many-colored  tur- 
bans,  stood  at  the  head  of  the  room,  with  large  fans  in  their 

bauds.  Raising  another  curtain,  Maude  was  conducted  into 

20« 


234 


MAUDE  AND  MTETA^r. 


a lady's  apartment,  to  whicli  was  attached  a hath  and  dress< 
ing-room.  A young  Jewish  servant  was  here  in  waiting. 

‘^Thou  wilt  wait  upon  this  lady,  Sarah,”  said  Miriam, 
“ and  then  conduct  her  to  the  room  on  the  garden.” 

Miriam  vanished;  and  following  her  guide,  Maude  en- 
joyed the  luxury  of  a perfumed  bath,  the  first  that  she  had 
ever  taken. 

Her  toilet  accomplished,  a glass  of  cool  sherbet  was 
handed  on  a silver  waiter,  and  then  conducted  to  the  room 
appointed : Mordecai  the  Jew  and  his  sister  Esther  gave  her 
a cordial  welcome.  Miriam  had  changed  her  dress,  and  now 
appeared  in  one  of  the  richest  in  her  wardrobe.  Her  form 
was  symmetry  itself,  shown  to  advantage  by  a sort  of  East- 
ern dress  according  to  the  fashion  of  her  nation.  Her  tur- 
ban of  yellow  silk  suited  the  rich  color  of  her  olive  com- 
plexion. Brilliant  dark  eyes,  teeth  white  as  pearl,  and  a 
profusion  of  sable  tresses  which  fell  upon  a beautifully 
modelled  neck,  took  Maude  by  surprise ; for  she  had  never 
seen  one  so  brilliant  as  the  lovely  Jewess.  Her  vest  was 
closed  from  the  throat  to  the  waist  by  golden  and  pearl- 
studded  clasps,  the  three  uppermost  unfastened  on  account 
of  the  heat.  A diamond  necklace  with  pendants  of  inesti- 
mable value  were  by  this  means  made  conspicuous.  Miriam 
of  the  hospital  and  Miriam  at  home  were  two  very  diflbrent 
persons. 

The  room  opened  on  the  garden,  filled  with  the  richest 
of  Eastern  plants  and  flowers,  in  the  midst  of  which  played 
a delicious  fountain  ; and  large  fans  suspended  overhead 
kept  the  room  delightfully  cool.  At  a signal  given,  two 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


236 


attendants  entered  with  a tray  of  fruit  and  cakes,  with  sherbet 
cooled  with  snow  from  the  mountains,  one  of  the  greatest 
luxuries  of  Eastern  countries. 

After  the  refreshment,  music,  in  an  adjoining  room,  enter- 
tained them  for  an  hour ; and  then  Miriam  led  her  new  friend 
into  her  own  apartment,  where  heaps  of  embroidered  cush- 
ions of  the  most  luxurious  kind  were  spread  around  the 
loom.  A dressing-room  adjoining,  and  a number  of  pretty 
little  articles  scattered  around,  showed  that  neither  pains 
nor  expense  had  been  spared  in  adorning  Miriam’s  own 
room. 

‘‘  It  is  an  Eastern  custom  to  rest  in  the  middle  of  the  day 
in  these  hot  countries,”  said  the  Jewess ; and  inviting  Maude 
to  lay  aside  her  tunic,  she  offered  a thin  dressing-gown,  and 
the  two  composing  themselves  on  the  divans  found  the 
drowsiness  of  mid-day  creeping  over  them,  and  were  soon 
asleep. 

Waking  up,  Maude  perceived  that  her  companion  held  a 
roll  of  parchment  in  her  hand. 

“ What  hast  thou  there,  Miriam  ? ” inquired  her  friend. 

“ Our  ancient  Scriptures,”  replied  the  Jewess. 

“ Wouldst  read  some,  Miriam  ? ” asked  the  Norman  lady. 

‘‘  I will  try  an  I can  make  thee  understand  my  poor  at- 
tempt.” 

Opening  at  the  first  chapter  of  Genesis,  she  read : 

‘‘  In  the  beginning,  God  created  the  heaven  and  the  earth,” 
and  so  on,  until  she  reached  the  passages  where  the  plural 
pronoun  was  used. 

“ Stop,  Miriam,”  said  Maude,  “ those  be  strange  words  — 


236 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


go  mucli  like  those  in  St.  John’s  Gospel,”  and  repeating  the 
words,  the  Jewess  listened,  more  surprised  than  she  chose  to 
acknowledge. 

“ In  the  beginning  was  the  Word,  and  the  Word  was  with 
God,  and  the  Word  was  God. 

“The  same  was  in  the  beginning  with  God. 

“All  things  were  made  by  him;  and  without  him  was 
not  anything  made  that  was  made.” 

“ Dost  see,  Miriam,  that  some  other  person  besides  God 
the  Father  is  spoken  of  there ; and  then  back  in  Genesis' 
thou  readest : 

“ ‘ Let  us  make  man.’  Who  can  it  be  an^  it  be  not  the 
Lord  Jesus?” 

“ It  is  a strange  expression,  Maude.  I may  not  have, 
read  it  aright.  I will  ask  the  rabbi.  But  let  us  read  o^ir 
sacred  books  together.  What  sayest  thou  ? ” 

“ It  pleaseth  me  well,  Miriam  ; for  they  are  the  words  of 
God,  I trow.” 

The  pleasant  day  passed  swiftly,  and  when  the  rays  of 
the  setting  sun  had  disappeared  behind  the  distant  hills, 
Miriam  took  her  new  friend  home  to  the  camp,  both  prom- 
ising that  this  should  not  be  the  last  visit  — Esther  having 
joined  her  cordial  invitation  to  the  young  lady,  for  Maude 
was  one  chosen  by  the  idolized  daughter  of  her  beloved 
brother  Mordecai. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


MOONLIGHT  AMONG  THE  WOUNDED., 

rpHE  king  has  entirely  recovered,  and  no  supineness  could 
hence  be  tolerated  in  the  English  camp.  His  enthu- 
siasm spread  rapidly  among  the  soldiers : but  the  one  great 
obstacle  still  remained ; for  the  other  princes,  seeing  his 
valor  and  determination,  felt  that  the  prize  was  most  likely 
to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  English  king,  and  neither  Philip 
Augustus  nor  Leopold  of  Austria  meant  that  he  should  have 
the  glory.  A fresh  attack  upon  the  walls  is  in  contempla- 
tion; and,  carrying  forward  the  preparations  vigorously,  we 
find  the  army  under  Coeur  de  Lion  himself  advancing  to 
the  onset.  The  fury  of  the  crusaders  was  at  boiling  heat, 
when  they  saw  the  image  of  the  cross  upon  the  walls  pelted 
with  dirt  amid  shouts  of  derision  on  the  part  of  the  jeering 
infidels. 

Rushing  forward,  the  lion-hearted  king  at  their  head,  by 
a vigorous  effort  they  carried  the  barbican  and  reached  the 
wall.  A portion  of  this  was  thrown  down  with  axes  and 
picks,  and  the  king,  followed  by  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg,  the 
Baron  of  Ravenscliff,  Lancelot,  and  Guy,  mounting  by  lad 
ders  to  the  top  of  the  battlements  under  a hail  of  arrows, 
fought  for  some  time  hand  to  hand  with  the  Turks.  But 

287 


238 


' / 

MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

after  many  had  fallen  on  both  sides,. it  became  plain  to  the 
leaders  that  nothing  could  be  effected  without  the  usual 
machinery,  and  the  assault  was  suspended. 

Every  power  was  now  directed  to  the  construction  of  the 
machinery  necessary  in  a siege.  Catapults,  mangonels,  and 
large  movable  towers  were  prepared,  as  in  former  sieges. 
During  their  fabrication,  a dreadful  drought  pervaded  the 
army.  The  wells  in  the  neighborhood  having  been  filled  up 
by  the  Turks,  the  only  water  that  reached  the  camp  was 
paid  for  as  if  each  drop  were  gold. 

The  soldiers,  unable  to  procure  it,  wandered  off  in  the 
search,  or  licked  the  morning  dew  from  the  stones.  Vice 
and  immorality  stalked  abroad,  and  superstition  was  obliged 
to  be  called  in  aid  of  virtue.  Maude  and  Miriam  were  still 
devoted  to  the  hospital,  for  in  the  late  onset  a large  num- 
ber had  been  added  to  the  wounded.  The  engines  were  at 
length  completed,  and  the  attack  once  more  began.  The 
towers  were  rolled  on  to  the  walls,  the  battering-rams 
were  plied  incessantly,  and  while  the  Saracens  poured  forth 
both  Greek  fire  and  arrows,  the  crusaders  waged  the  warfare 
with  equal  courage  from  their  machines.  The  leaders  of 
the  Christian  army,  with  King  Kichard  at  the  head,  occu- 
pied the  higher  stages  of  these  towers,  and,  surrounded  by 
the  two  De  Veres  and  Guy  de  Mowbray,  the  king  armed 
with  a bow,  directed  his  shafts  against  all  who  appeared 
upon  the  walls.  Such  soldiers  as  the  machines  could  not 
contain  were  ranged  opposite  the  walls,  urging  the  batter- 
ing-rams, plying  the  mangonels,  and  by  flights  of  arrows 
covering  the  attack  from  the  towers. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


239 


Irai'nense  efforts  were  made  from  all  quarters,  and  the 
tower  of  King  Kichard  rolled  up  until  it  touched  the  wall. 
The  movable  bridge  was  let  down,  and  the  king  sprang  upon 
the  wall  with  battle-axe  in  hand,  followed  by  Sir  Bryan,  the 
two  De  Veres,  and  Guy  de  Mowbray,  who,  covering  the  per- 
son of  the  king,  fought  hand  to  hand  with  the  Saracens. 
The  king  performed  incredible  deeds  of  valor  and  strength, 
hurling  one  after  another  over  the  walls,  until  the  Turks  fell 
back  before  the  giant  warrior.  The  army  beheld  the  Chris- 
tians on  the  walls ; but  when  reinforcements  were  most 
needed,  none  came.  The  gate  was  not  burst  open,  Philip 
Augustus  did  not  send  aid,  and  the  critical  moment  passed ; 
for  the  Turks,  pressing  forward  in  multitudes,  mounted  the 
walls  and  repulsed  the  Christians.  The  fight  was  fiercest 
around  the  king,  and  the  battle-cries  of  “ Ha,  Beauseant ! 

‘‘  For  St.  George  and  merry  England  ! ” were  heard  on  every 
8ide.  Some  have  fallen  who  pressed  most  closely  around 
the  king ; and  finding  the  day  lost,  the  chafed  lion  retreated  - 
to  the  tower,  and,  rolling  it  away,  raised  the  siege. 

It  were  hard  to  describe  the  rage  of  King  Richard. 

“Where  was  Philip  with  his  reinforcements said  the 
king.  “ It  needed  but  one  more  desperate  charge,  and  the 
gates  would  have  been  opened.  The  false-hearted  craven  ! 
And  Austria,  where  was  he?  With  his  spruch-sprecher 
drinking  his  Tokay  and  Rhenish,  I trow,  and  the  gates  just 
waiting  for  the  army  to  enter.’’ 

Seeking  the  retirement  of  his  pavilion,  we  find  the  queen 
hastening  to  meet  him. 

“ Now  heaven  be  lauded ! ” said  the  queen,  throwing 


24C  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

her  arms  around  his  neck.  “Thou  art  safe,  my  noble 
lion.*' 

“ Better  to  be  with  the  brave  knights  that  lie  before  the 
walls  of  Acre,  Berengaria,  than  in  this  royal  tent,  a fallen, 
defeated  leader  of  the  Christian  host ; and  all  through  the 
bad  faith  of  France  and  Austria.  Montserrat  is  scarcely  to 
be  named  ; for  what  look  we  for  in  a popinjay  ? ’* 

Striding  up  and  down  the  tent  like  a chafed  lion,  Rich- 
ard seized  his  battle-axe,  and,  wielding  it  above  his  head,  he 
said  : 

“Would  that  I dare  cleave  their  skulls  and  scatter  their 
brains,  Berengaria.  The  vow  of  knighthood  alone  protect- 
eth  them.” 

“ Thou  art  weary  and  sore  vexed,  my  liege.  Close  the 
curtain  around  thee,  shut  out  all  comers,  and  let  me  unbuckle 
thy  heavy  armor.  Thou  must  have  rest ; for  I need  none  to 
tell  what  deeds  of  valor  Richard  Plantagenet  hath  wrought 
this  day.” 

“Do  as  thou  wilt,  lady  of  our  heart,”  said  the  king;  “ for 
thou  speakest  truth.  Soothly  we  need  rest.” 

With  her  own  fair  hands  unbuckling  his  helmet  and  other 
heavy  pieces  of  armor,  she  brought  a short  mantle,  and  with 
her  soft  blandishments  persuaded  the  king  to  lie  down  upon 
nis  couch.  Then  bringing  a composing  draught,  she  admin- 
istered it,  and  giving  orders  to  his  attendants  to  admit  no  one, 
she  drew  the  curtains  and  left  the  tent.  In  the  meanwhile, 
Maude  was  seated  by  her  mother's  couch,  bathing  her  head 
and  soothing  the  invalid  by  her  gentle  ministry,  her  heart 


MAUDE  AN|D  MIRIAM. 


‘ill 


filled  with  the  deepest  anxiety  for  the  fate  of  the  besiegers ; 
for,  near  enough  to  hear  the  din  of  warfare  and  the  battle- 
cries  of  the  crusaders,  she  felt  as  if  every  shout  from  the 
walls  might  be  mingled  with  the  dying  groans  of  those  she 
so  dearly  loved. 

But  the  warfare  for  the  day  is  ended,  and,  with  a trem- 
bling heart,  Maude  is  waiting  for  news.  But  there  is  a hur- 
ried step  at  the  opening  of  the  tent,  and,  pushing  aside  the 
curtain,  Guy  de  Mowbray  hurries  forward. 

Starting  to  her  feet,  and  clasping  both  hands  within  her 
own,  Maude  hastened  to  meet  him,  exclaiming : 

“ Art  safe,  Guy  ? How  I have  watched  for  thee ! Now 
the  blessed  Lord  be  lauded.” 

She  could  say  no  more ; for,  in  the  tumult  of  her  joy, 
Maude  had  fainted,  and  Guy  received  the  falling  figure  in 
his  arms.  A draught  of  cool  water,  with  some  sprinkled  on 
the  fair  face,  and  a few  words  of  tenderness,  restored  the 
maiden,  and  sitting  on  a divan,  leaning  her  head  upon 
Guy’s  shoulder,  Maude  spoke  a few  disjointed  words ; and 
then,  as  though  suddenly  awaking,  she  said,  starting  up : 
“Is  the  day  really  lost?  And  where  tarrieth  Lancelot, 
my  beloved  brother?  Do  not  tell  me  that  harm  hath  be- 
fallen him.  And  my  father,  Guy ; tell  me  of  my  father ! ” 
“ Thy  father  careth  for  the  wounded,  and  I could  not  find 
thy  brother,  Maude.  He  fought  bravely  by  the  side  of  the 
king,  amidst  a shower  of  arrows.  Many  fell  around  us ; but  I 
saw  nothing  of  Lancelot  among  the  dead  or  wounded.  There 
is  hope  that  he  hath  been  carried  off  the  field  by  some  one : 
we  trust  a friend.  It  hath  been  a dark  day  for  the  soldiers  of 
21  Q 


242 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


the  cross,  beloved.  The  king  hath  done  deeds  of  wondroua 
courage;  but  the  treacherous  princes  failed  us.  Hence  our 
ehameful  defeat.’’ 

“ Would  that  I knew  something  of  my  brother!  ” 

* Grieve  not,  Maude.  Thou  wilt  find  him  ere  many  hours, 
I trow.” 

After  a long  repose,  the  king  awoke,  refreshed  and  vigor- 
ous. Summoning  a council  of  knights  to  his  presence,  we 
are  in  their  midst. 

Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg,  Sir  Reginald  de  Vere,  Sir  Walter  de 
Courtenay,  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray,  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth, 
with  some  others,  were  present. 

Discussing  the  defeat  of  the  day,  the  king  became  greatly 
excited,  and  said  with  bitterness : 

‘‘Who  doubteth  the  faithless  spirit  that  failed  us  to-day? 
Philip  careth  for  feudatory  spoils,  Austria  for  revels  with 
his  German  boors,  and  he  of  Montserrat  for  the  tiimmings 
of  his  doublet;  but  thou,  De  Vere,  deservest  thy  sovereign’s 
reward.  Brave  among  the  bravest,  loyal  among  the  false, 
thou  be  worthy  of  the  highest  honors  of  knighthood.  We 
dub  thee  now.  Sir  Reginald  de  Vere,  in  addition  to  thine 
other  titles,  ‘ Knight  of  the  Golden  Star,’  ” and  the  king,  at 
these  words,  threw  a broad  crimson  band  across  the  shoulder 
of  the  knight,  which  was  decorated  with  a large  gilt  star  and 
the  initials  of  Richard  Plantagenet.  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg 
and  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray,  with  other  knights,  in  their  hearts 
approved  of  the  distinction ; but  Sir  Richard  de  Mowbray, 
with  a sullen,  envious  spirit,  listened  to  the  monarch’s 
praises,  scowled  darkly  upon  his  rival,  and  left  the  tent. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


243 


But  where  tarrieth  Sir  Lancelot  de  Vere  ? ” inquired  the 
king;  “for,  in  the  thickest  of  the  fight,  he  was  ever  at  our 
side/^ 

“The  last  that  was  seen  of  him  was  in  the  midst  of  a 
shower  of  arrows,  when  many  fell  to  rise  no  more,”  said  Sir 
Guy.  “ I fear  that  he  was  one  of  the  brave  assailants.” 

“ Lose  no  time  in  searching  for  him,”  said  the  king  ; “ for, 
certes,  England  is  the  loser  an’  he  be  among  the  slain.” 

Guy  obeyed  the  command,  but  returned  with  the  intelli- 
gence that  no  tidings  could  be  obtained  of  the  brave  young 
knight.  It  is  evening  now,  and  the  placid  moon  is  shining 
down  upon  the  spot  where  the  slaughter  was  greatest.  Scat- 
tered around  lay  the  wounded,  the  dying,  and  the  dead; 
some  crowded  together  in  heaps,  others  alone  in  tlieir  an- 
guish. A female  form  in  white  robes  is  walking  slowly 
among  the  horrors  of  the  battle-field,  a male  attendant  by 
her  side.  She  has  been  in  such  scenes  before,  an  angel  of 
mercy  among  the  suflTerers ; and,  as  we  glance  at  the  face  in 
the  moonlight,  we  recognize  Miriam  the  Jewess.  She  heai-s 
a groan,  and,  stooping  down,  sees  a wounded  knight  lying 
helpless  in  his  heavy  armor,  calling  for  water.  They  have 
brought  some  in  the  litter,  for  Miriam  has  seen  ^ he  anguish 
of  thirst.  With  the  assistance  of  her  attendant  raising  the 
knight  from  the  ground,  unbuckling  his  casque  she  admin- 
istered the  cool,  refreshing  draught. 

‘^More!  more!”  murmured  the  parched  and  burning 
lips. 

“ Tell  me  thy  name,  sir  knight,”  said  the  Jewess. 

“Lancelot  de  Vere,”  was  the  faint  reply. 


244 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Place  him  iu  the  litter,  Reuben,”  said  the  lady,  “ 
will  take  him  to  our  own  home.  The  hospital  is  no  place 
for  such  ; and  we  can  do  much  for  him  in  a quiet  place.” 

Calling  assistance  from  another  who  was  searching  for 
friends  among  the  slain,  he  w'as  placed  in  the  litter ; the  loss 
of  blood  and  the  exertion  of  moving  causing  a deep  faint. 
Removing  the  helmet,  Miriam  had  a cordial  at  hand,  which 
she  administered,  bathing  the  burning  head  with  cool  water. 
After  a short  time,  there  were  symptoms  of  recovery ; but 
the  knight  was  bleeding  profusely,  and  they  hastened  to  the 
villa.  By  the  time  that  they  had  reached  the  stopping- 
place,  Lancelot  was  entirely  insensible;  and,  hurrying  him 
into  an  apartment  where  Reuben  speedily  removed  his 
armor,  another  servant  was  despatched  to  the  camp  for  a 
physician. 

Esther  and  Miriam,  being  somewhat  skilled  in  surgery, 
performed  all  that  they  knew  of  the  steps  necessary  in  such 
a case, — staunching  the  wounds,  which  were  many,  bathing 
the  face  in  cool  water,  and  employing  an  attendant  to  stand 
by  with  a fan ; but  the  deep  insensibility  continued,  and 
they  were  anxious  for  the  arrival  of  the  physician.  But  he 
is  here  at  length,  and  pronounces  the  wounds  serious  but 
nut  mortal,  although  there  were  many.  Fever  followed  re- 
turning insensibility,  and  Miriam  was  a faithful,  devoted 
nurse.  She  has  sent  a messenger  to  Maude,  thinking  that 
it  must  be  her  brother ; and  we  find  the  sister  soon  by  the 
side  of  his  couch,  full  of  anxious  solicitude,  for  Lancelot 
knows  no  one  for  days.  His  serving-man  is  with  him  ; for 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


215 


as  soon  as  he  heard  of  his  master’s  injuries,  he  hastened  to 
his  side. 

Maude  spends  much  of  her  time  with  her  wounded  bro- 
ther; but  Wilfred,  too,  is  wounded,  ami  Maude  is  daily  by 
his  couch  at  the  hospital.  Wearied  at  length  with  anxiety 
and  toil,  and  the  prostrating  power  of  the  climate,  she  is  ^ 
obliged  to  seek  repose;  and  now,  added  to  her  other  cares, 
the  Lady  Jaqueline  is  ill  wdth  fever,  and  she  is  obliged  to 
leave  her  brother  in  the  hands  of  his  faithful  nurse,  and 
the  king’s  physician. 

The  crisis  in  Lancelot’s  case  is  safely  passed,  and  we  find 
him  one  morning,  after  a fever  of  nine  days,  awaking  to  con- 
sciousness, wondering  where  he  is.  He  is  reposing  on  a pile 
of  cushions,  his  room  opening  on  a garden,  where  fiowers 
abound  and  where  a delicious  fountain  is  playing  in  his 
sight.  There  is  a small  table  by  his  divan,  on  which  are 
placed  his  medicines  and  cool  water,  a luxury  enjoyed  at 
great  cost.  His  own  man  is  sitting  by  him,  ready  to  minister 
to  his  wants. 

“ Art  there,  Robin  ? ” said  the  weak  voice  amid  the 
cushions. 

“ The  holy  Virgin  be  lauded ! ” was  the  reply ; ‘‘  for  we 
had  lost  all  hope.” 

‘‘  Where  am  I,  Robin  ? This  is  not  our  tent.” 

Thou  dwellest  in  the  house  of  Mordecai  the  Jew,  Sir 
Lancelot,  and  art  nursed  by  his  sister  and  daughter ; but 
there  hath  been  sorrow  here  since  thou  liest  on  that 
divan.” 

“ What  sorrow,  good  Robin  ? ” 

21* 


246 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“The  father  fell  in  the  siege,  pierced  b}  arrows,  and 
burnt  bj  the  Greek  fire ! ” 

“ What  doeth  a Jew  in  the  Christian  camp,  Robin  ? ” 

“ Methinketh  from  words  dropped  by  Reuben,  one  of  the 
serving -men,  that  Mordecai  loved  gold  and  treasure,  and 
• that  he  was  searching  for  such  like  when  the  arrows  over- 
took hi*^ ; for  they  continued  firing  upon  stragglers  after 
the  king  had  retired.  His  daughter  Miriam  was  sorely 
grieved  at  the  loss  of  her  father;  and,  knowing  that  thou 
wouldst  do  the  same,  I went  with  Reuben  to  look  for  the 
dead  Jew,  for  it  was  not  safe  for  him  to  go  alone.’’ 

“ Didst  find  him,  Robin  ? ” 

“We  did,  after  long  search,  and  brought  his  remains 
home  to  his  daughter,  who  buried  him,  according  to  the 
Jewish  ways,  in  a sepulchre  out  at  the  end  of  the  garden, 
where  the  mother  lieth.” 

“ Thou  didst  well,  Robin,  and  would  that  I could  have 
helped  thee  in  thy  work.” 

At  that  moment  the  curtain  was  gently  pushed  aside,  and 
a lady,  young,  lovely,  and  shrinking  with  modest  diffidence, 
stepped  into  the  room. 

Clad  in  robes  of  the  East,  white,  thin,  and  flowing, 
Miriam  stood  before  the  knight. 

“ Thou  art  better,  sir  knight.  The  God  of  Abraham  be 
praised ! ” 

“ Where  tarrieth  my  sister  Maude,  fair  lady  ? ” 

“ The  Lady  Maude  is  sorely  grieved  that  she  cannot  be 
with  thee ; for  thy  mother,  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  lieth  sick 
of  fever,  and  the  young  esquire,  Wilfred  d’Arcy,  is  wounded, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


247 


and  thy  sister  hath  great  toil  in  this  land  of  the  burning 
sun.’^ 

‘‘  Thou  hast  been  a faithful  nurse,  fair  lady ; for  Robin 
hath  told  how  thou  hast  cared  for  a stranger  when  thine 
own  heart  breaketh  with  sorrow.” 

Miriam’s  dark  eyes  filled  with  tears,  as  she  replied : 

“ Few  have  lost  a father  so  good  and  kind ; but  I doubt 
not  that  he  resteth  in  Abraham’s  bosom.” 

“ Who  hath  been  my  physician,  fair  lady  ? ” 

‘‘The  king  sent  his  own.  Sir  Lancelot,  as  soon  as  he 
heard  of  thy  danger ; but  thou  must  not  wear  thyself  out. 
Thou  art  weak  yet,  and  needeth  quiet,  therefore  I leave  thee 
for  the  present.” 

“ Thou  wilt  not  stay  away  long,  for  thy  voice  cheers  and 
comforts  me  like  unto  my  sister  Maude’s.” 

Miriam,  pushing  aside  the  curtain,  disappeared;  and 
Lancelot  lay  thinking  a long  time  of  the  fair  vision  that 
had  just  broken  the  silence  of  his  room.  Sinking  soon 
into  a healthful  slumber,  his  dreams  were  of  cool  fountains, 
gentle  breezes,  and  the  whispers  of  a woman’s  musical 
voice. 

The  curtain  is  pushed  aside  again,  and  bearing  a silver 
tray  of  refreshments,  Miriam  is  here  once  more,  with  her 
own  fingers  paring  the  oranges,  preparing  the  pomegran- 
ates, and  pouring  out  the  cool  sherbet,  thus  tempting  the 
capricious  appetite  of  the  languid  invalid. 

“ Wilt  look  under  the  cushion,  fair  lady  ? ” said  the 
knight.  “ Thou  wilt  find  a book  there  which  is  like  cool 
water  in  a thirsty  land.” 


248 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


Miriam  brought  out  the  manuscript  of  Maude’s  fair  eop) 
ing. 

“Canst  read  our  language,  fair  lady?  ” 

“ I can  answer  thee  yea,  for  my  good  father  spareth  not 
his  wealth  in  teaching  his  daughter,  and  a priest,  who  was 
sick  in  our  house,  taught  me  how  to  read  the  English 
tongue.” 

“ Then  thou  readest  the  Gospel  to  me,  fair  lady.” 

“I  would  not  deceive  thee,  sir  knight.  I believe  not 
the  Gospel ; but  if  it  pleaseth  thee,  I will  read  to  thee  from 
thy  book.” 

“ Find  the  fifth  chapter,  lady.  Thou  findest  there  that 
thine  own  Moses  speaketh  of  our  Lord.” 

In  soft,  silvery  tones,  Miriam  read  until  she  came  unto 
the  forty-sixth  verse,  and  then  read  slowly : 

“ For  had  ye  believed  Moses,  ye  would  have  believed  me : 
for  he  wrote  of  me. 

But  if  ye  believe  not  his  writings,  how  shall  ye  believe 
my  words  ? ” 

“Seest  thou  not,  fair  lady,  that  Moses  wrote  of  our 
Lord  ? ” said  Lancelot. 

Miriam  smiled  incredulously,  as  she  replied : 

“ But  who  writeth  these  words,  sir  knight?” 

“ Truly,  the  holy  Apostle  John.” 

“ And  seest  thou  not  that  he  would  make  all  appear  ac- 
cording to  his  wishes  ? ” 

“ But  thou  seest  that  these  were  the  words  of  our  dear 
Lord  himself.” 

“ So  John  believeth,  sir  knight.” 


/ 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


249 


Many  an  hour  was  passed  thus  during  Lancelot’s  con- 
valescence, and  Miriam  read  her  own  Scriptures  too,  trying 
to  make  him  understand  her  attempt  at  translation.  Very 
fascinating  was  the  close  intercourse  of  the  two  in  the  luxu- 
rious repose  of  this  Eastern  villa,  — Lancelot  so  shut  in 
from  the  outer  world,  amid  the  perfume  of  flowers,  the 
sweetness  of  music  win* eh  came  floating  across  the  garden, 
from  a room  opposite  to  his  own,  and  the  daily  visits  of  a 
young  and  charming  woman,  evidently  interested  in  the 
wounded  knight;  and  as  for  Miriam,  she  was  in  a new 
world,  with  no  kindred  on  earth  save  Aunt  Esther,  so  re- 
cently bereaved,  a heart  full  of  deep  and  tender  feeling,  the 
society  of  the  gallant  knight  was  full  of  danger  for  her  fu- 
ture peace.  There  was  a great  charm  in  his  accounts  of 
Ravenscliff,  with  its  romantic  associations,  its  hawking  and 
its  tournament.  Even  the  description  of  the  bleak  wintry 
season,  with  its  roaring  fires  and  its  merry  sports,  had  its 
fascination  from  its  very  novelty.  She  heard  much  of  the 
Lady  Eveline,  of  Father  Ambrose,  and  good  old  Cicely,  and 
hopes  undefined  and  shadowy  began  to  stir  in  the  heart  of 
the  young  Jewess. 

We  find  the  two,  one  day,  out  in  the  garden,  Lancelot  re- 
clining on  a divan,  close  to  the  music  of  the  cool  fountain, 
engrossed  completely  by  the  sweet  interchange  of  harmo- 
nious thoughts. 

‘‘Dost  seem  long  or  short  season  syth  we  have  known 
each  other,  fair  Miriam,”  said  the  young  knight,*  turn- 
ing an  admiring  glance  upon  the  blushing  face  beside 
him. 


250 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“ Both,  sir  knight,”  was  the  low  reply,  as  Miriam  averted 
ner  face. 

Lancelot  smiled. 

“ So  it  seemeth  to  me  short  when  measured  on  the  dial 
happiness,  long  in  the  crowding  memories  of  hope  and  fear 
and  deep  emotion.  Is  that  thy  meaning,  Miriam  ? ” 

“ So  thou  sayest.  Sir  Lancelot  ? ” 

‘‘The  season  of  parting  draweth  nigh,  Miriam,  when  I 
return  to  the  duties  and  dangers  of  the  camp  and  thou  tar- 
riest  in  thy  quiet  home.  Wilt  remember  me,  fair  lady?” 

“ Friends  are  few  to  Miriam  the  Jewess  ; and  thou  know- 
est.  Sir  Lancelot,  that  these  few  weeks  leave  food  for  thought 
in  lonely  hours.” 

“ In  this  secluded  home,  Miriam,  I have  seen  thy  noble 
heart,  and  could  I hope  for  the  place  next  to  thy  God,  I 
could  say  farewell  more  willingly.  Dost  know,  fair  Miriam, 
that  I love  thee ; thee  only,  thee  fondly  ? ” 

Deep  blushes  suffused  the  maiden’s  cheek,  as  she  replied 
in  low,  tremulous  tones : 

“ These  are  blessed  words.  Sir  Lancelot ; for  how  could 
I bear  to  feel  that  the  memories  of  these  short  weeks  must 
all  be  blotted  out  ? ” 

Taking  the  maiden’s  hand,  and  fixing  an  earnest  gaze 
upon  her  face,  Lancelot  whispered: 

“ Say  but  one  word,  Miriam,  and  I am  happy.  Say  but 
* I love  thee.’  ” 

“ Easy  to  say.  Sir  Lancelot,  ‘ I love  thee.’  And  shouldest 
thou  have  left  the  villa,  and  no  words  like  unto  these  had 
passed  atween  us,  I had  buried  the  feeling  in  my  hearty  and 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


261 


joined  myself  to  a band  of  holy  women,  who  spend  their 
lives  in  deeds  of  mercy ; but  now,”  (and  a bright,  rosy  smile 
passed  over  the  face  of  the  Jewess,)  **  when  these  cruel  wars 
are  over,  I go  with  thee  to  England,  to  share  thy  fortunes 
and  to  cheer  thy  fireside.” 

“ Heaven  bless  thee,  Miriam ! There  is  but  one  drawback 
to  our  happiness,  and  that  is  the  difference  of  faith.” 

“ I have  told  thee  ever.  Sir  Lancelot,  that  I am  open  to 
conviction.  I see  the  beauty  of  the  teachings  of  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.” 

Read  me  now,  sweet  one,  a crfiapter  of  the  Gospel.” 

In  her  own  sweet,  silvery  voice,  Miriam  read  the  sacred 
record,  her  mind  not  yet  ready  to  yield  to  the  internal  evi- 
dence of  the  divinity  which  she  was  beginning  to  see  in  its 
sacred  teachings ; admiring  its  holy,  heavenly  spirit,  which 
was  blessing  Lancelot  as  much  as  herself  in  this  sweet  re- 
tirement. Seeing  only,  as  yet,  ‘through  a glass  darkly,’ 
we  can  leave  the  two  with  the  Saviour’s  prayer : 

“ Sanctify  them  through  thy  truth ; thy  word  is  truth  ; ” 
remembering  that  not  by  sacraments  are  we  born  again,  but 
“ by  the  word  of  Ood,  which  abideth  forever.” 


CHAPTER  XX 


MAUDE  LANGUISHES. 

Maude  is  frequently  brought  into  contact  with  Father 
Matthias,  who  has  become  deeply  absorbed  in  the 
study  of  the  Gospel. 

One  day,  as  she  was  about  entering  the  hospital,  the  priest 
nought  her  side,  and  handing  her  the  manuscript,  said : 

“ There  is  thy  blessed  book,  daughter.  1 thank  thee  for 
the  good  words ; for  I should  have  seen  them  never  but  for 
thee.  I have  a faithful  copy  which  I keep  unto  my  life's 
end." 

“ That  be  five  copies,  father,  that  proceed  from  the  one 
lent  by  Father  Ambrose." 

“ That  were  a blessed  apostle,  daughter,  greatly  honored 
by  our  dear  Lord,  spoken  of  as  the  one  that  Jesus  loved." 

The  priest  passed  on,  and  Maude  directed  her  steps  to 
Wilfred's  bed. 

He  had  been  looking  long  and  wearily  for  her  arrival,  the 
morning  hours  dragging  slowly  on;  and  composing  himself 
to  sleep,  he  was  just  on  the  verge  of  forgetfulness,  when  a 
/ light  footstep,  that  he  knew  so  well,  approached  his  couch. 
It  was  Maude,  pale,  weary,  sick  with  watching,  but  with  a 
small  basket  of  fruit  in  her  hand. 


262 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


263 


**  Is  it  thou,  Lady  Maude  ? Where  tarriest  thou  so  long  ? 
1 have  watched  the  hours  of  this  weary  day  until  heart- 
sickness hath  well-nigh  closed  mine  eyes.’’ 

cry  you  mercy,  good  Wilfred,  for  weakness  and  weari 
ness  hath  laid  a heavy  hand  upon  me ; but  I wot  that  thou 
spendest  many  lonesome  hours,  and  I made  much  trial  of 
my  strength  to  see  thee,  for  it  may  be  that  I be  hindered  ere 
long,  from  the  fever  that  creepeth  on.” 

“ Say  not  so.  Lady  Maude.  How  could  I bear  the  pain 
and  weariness  without  thee  ? ” 

“ I trow  that  thou  art  slowly  mending,  Wilfred ; and 
when  thou  leavest  the  hospital,  thou  returnest  these  Visits  to 
thy  couch.  But  I may  not  tarry  long  from  the  Lady 
Jaqueline,  and  have  “brought  my  book.  Wouldst  like  to 
hear  some  of  our  dear  Lord’s  words.”  / 

‘‘  Thou  canst  not  please  me  more,  Lady  Maude.” 

will  read  some  that  suiteth  thee  well,  Wilfred.  ‘But 
the  Comforter,  which  is  the  Holy  Ghost,  whom  the  Father 
mil  send  in  my  name,  he  shall  teach  you  all  things,  and 
bring  all  things  to  your  remembrance  whatsoever  I have 
said  unto  you.’ 

“ ‘ Peace  I leave  with  you,  my  peace  I give  unto  you  : net 
as  the  world  giveth,  give  I unto  you.’ 

“ ‘ Let  not  youT  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be 
afraid.’  ” 

“ Those  are  blessed  words,  Lady  Maude.  Dost  think  that 
they  are  meant  for  me  ? ” 

“Believest  thou,  Wilfred,  simply  like  unto  a little 
child?” 

22 


254 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Clasping  his  thin  hands,  he  looked  upward,  saying ; 

“ Lord,  thou  knowest  that  I believe  thy  holy  words.  ” 

“ Then  the  Comforter  cometh  to  thee,  Wilfred,  the  Holy 
Ghost ; and  when  thou  art  alone  on  thy  couch,  his  presence 
will  be  with  thee  to  teach  thee  all  things ; but  I must  go 
hence,  and  leave  the  blessed  words  of  peace  with  thee.” 
‘‘Couldst  we  choose  our  companions  in  the  paradise 
above,  I would  ask  no  other  among  all  the  blessed  saints 
than  thee.” 

She  has  gone ; and  the  rest  of  the  day  her  place  is  by  her 
mother’s  side,  who  needs  her  gentle  ministry. 

Lancelot  is  rapidly  recovering,  and  the  Scripture  read- 
ings between  the  young  Jewess  and  bimself  will  not  easily 
be  forgotten.  She  is  an  intelligent,  ingenuous  reader,  not 
concealing  the  questions  which  are  beginning  to  arrange 
themselves  in  her  mind  concerning  the  Messiah ; Lancelot 
often  wishing  that  Maude  were  present  to  answer  her 
inquiries.  Entirely  convalescent,  the  young  knight  is  pre- 
paring to  take  his  departure,  deeply  grateful  for  the  kind- 
ness which  has  been  extended  by  one  of  an  opposing  faith  so 
generously  to  a crossed  knight. 

‘‘  Then  wilt  be  one  of  us,  fair  Miriam,”  said  Sir  Lance- 
lot, ‘‘  and  then  we  be  blest  indeed.” 

“ Once  sure  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth  is  the  true  Messiah, 
all  the  rest  is  plain  enough.  I own  to  thee,  sir  knight,  that 
there  is  much  in  the  old  prophets  that  disturbeth  me  of  late, 
and  that  seemeth  full  of  mystery.” 

“ I shall  sorely  miss  the  cool  fountains  and  sweet  odors 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


266 


of  this  quiet  home,  sweet  one ; but  it  was  not  for  ease  that 
we  bound  the  cross  upon  our  shoulders : and  I hasten  now 
to  the  side  of  my  royal  master,  once  more  to  take  up  arraa 
against  the  infidels.  And  now  farewell,  my  own  Miriam. 
We  meet  again  in  brighter  days.” 

No  words  passed  the  maiden’s  lips  as  in  silence  she  re- 
ceived the  last  fond  kiss  of  the  young  knight  upon  her  fair 
forehead.  Welcomed  to  the  camp  by  the  king,  Lancelot 
is  in  his  accustomed  place  of  honor,  awaiting  active  move- 
ments on  the  part  of  the  army.  Sick  and  weary  with 
exposure  to  the  hot  suns  and  chilling  dews  of  Palestine, 
Maude  is  unable  to  continue  her  ministry  of  love ; and  as 
soon  as  Miriam  is  aware  of  the  fact,  she  is  conducted  to  the 
villa,  for  the  Jewess  says  that  Maude  cannot  be  properly 
nursed  in  the  camp. 

Maude  is  very  ill ; the  fever  daily  on  the  increase,  run- 
ning its  dangerous  course  of  slow,  insidious  inroads  of 
delirium  and  wasting  of  strength,  until  the  deepest  anxiety 
is  felt  by  all  who  love  her.  In  addition  to  her  own,  the 
Moorish  physician  is  summoned,  and  on  his  first  visit, 
Miriam  reads  deep  solicitude  upon  his  serious  face,  as  he 
said  in  a low  voice : 

‘‘  I should  have  seen  the  patient  sooner.” 

The  Lady  Jaqueline  is  too  ill  to  leave  her  tent ; Wilfred 
d’Arcy  suffers  and  prays  on  his  lonely  couch  in  the  hospi- 
tal ; the  noble  baron  and  Lancelot  are  daily  visitors.  And 
Guy  de  Mowbray  is  an  object  of  the  deepest  sympathy,  as 
he  paces,  hour  after  hour,  up  and  down  the  garden  paths, 
glancing  hastily  in  at  the  open  lattice  of  Maude’s 


256 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 

then  wringing  his  hands  in  agony,  returning  to  hiB  lonely 
walk. 

AIJ  are  aware  that  a crisis  is  approaching.  The  physi- 
cian, calling  for  a cup  of  spring  water,  takes.from  his  bosom 
the  small  red  purse,  which  he  steeps  for  a few  moments  in 
the  water.  When  sufficiently  medicated,  he  administers  it 
to  the  patient ; and  then  motioning  all  from  the  room  save 
Miriam,  enjoins  the  most  profound  silence  throughout  the 
house,  saying  that  twelve  hours  will  decide  the  fate  of  the 
sufferer. 

Father  Matthias  has  heard  of  Maude’s  danger,  and  has- 
tens to  the  villa,  taking  his  seat  out  in  the  garden  that  he 
may  comfort  Guy  in  his  deep  sorrow.  Miriam,  fearing  the 
noise  of  the  footsteps,  has  brought  out  two  pairs  of  soft  slip- 
pers, saying  the  words : 

“ Perfect  silence  reigns  everywhere  by  order  of  the  phy- 
sician.” 

The  servants  are  not  allowed  to  pass  in  that  part  of  the 
house.  The  incoherent  mutterings  of  the  patient  soon  cease, 
and  a deep  death-like  sleep  is  falling  around  Maude. 

The  physician  is  sitting  motionless.  Miriam’s  head  is  bent 
in  silent  prayer.  Father  Matthias,  in  low  tones,  is  whisper- 
ing words  of  entreaty  for  the  sweet  young  life,  while  Guy 
is  speechless  with  anguish. 

One  hour  has  passed. 

On  gentle  footsteps  Guy  approaches  the  open  lattice. 

Can  that  be  Maude  de  Vere?  his  own  sweet  Maude? 

Motionless  she  lies  stretched  out  upon  the  couch.  Her 
mass  of  raven  locks,  clammy  with  death-sweats,  is  lying 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


257 


around  her  shoulders,  pushed  back  from  a marble  brow ; 
for  never,  when  shrouded  for  the  grave,  can  she  seem  more 
cold,  more  pulseless,  more  death-like.  Her  wasted  hands 
are  lying  upon  the  thin  coverlet,  with  every  mark  of  disso- 
lution creeping  over  them. 

Guy  takes  one  despairing  look,  and  then  slowly  returns 
to  the  priest. 

‘‘  She  is  with  the  angels,  father ; and  I shall  see  my  sweet 
one  no  more.  Gone  — gone.  Oh,  Maude  I how  couldst 
thou  leave  me  ? 

The  priest  slowly  walked  to  the  lattice.  Not  one  word 
was  spoken  ; but  a glance  at  the  physician  showed  that  hope 
was  not  dead  there,  although  to  Father  Matthias  there  are 
no  signs  of  life. 

The  hours  rolled  on.  To  Guy  they  seemed  like  time 
without  a name,  as  with  anxious  gaze,  from  hour  to  hour,  he 
looked  in  at  the  marble  figure  upon  the  couch,  at  the  sikvt 
figures  in  attendance. 

Not  one  crumb  of  food  passed  Guy’s  parched  lips  all  the 
dreary  day. 

Six  weary  hours  have  dragged  along,  and  the  silent  form 
has  not  moved  once.  Miriam  motions  to  the  physician 
Her  look  is  one  of  despair,  and  it  is  understood. 

A faint  smile  passes  over  his  face,  as,  standing  by  the 
couch,  he  places  a small  silver  mirror  before  the  mouth,  and 
handing  it  to  Miriam,  she  perceives  the  moisture.  He  lays 
his  hand  quietly  upon  the  heart,  and,  raising  his  dark  eyes 

b;  heaven,  a look  of  hope  is  there.  Placing  his  hand  again 

22*  E 


268  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

upon  his  mouth  for  continued  silence,  the  Jewess  undei* 
stands  the  signal,  and  quietly  glides  out. 

“ What  tidings,  fair  Miriam  ? ” said  Guy,  in  husky  tones, 
as  he  saw  her  approaching. 

“ She  is  alive.  Sir  Guy ; for  I saw  the  moisture  on  the  sih 
ver  mirror  which  was  held  to  her  lips.  Albeit  the  look  ig 
still  like  death,  there  is  pulsation  about  the  heart ; for  the 
look  sent  up  to  heaven,  as  the  physician  laid  his  hand  there, 
was  meant  for  thanks  I trow.” 

Even  this  feeble  hope  was  too  much  for  Guy,  for  deep 
sobs  burst  from  an  overcharged  heart,  and  the  priest  hur- 
ried him  away,  fearing  that  he  might  be  heard.  The  noon 
passed  by.  The  twilight  was  falling  around  the  villa. 

Guy  is  looking  anxiously  toward  the  open  lattice.  An 
unusual  stir  is  there ; for  both  Miriam  and  the  physician 
are  on  their  feet.  Advancing  to  the  couch,  he  said,  slowly : 
‘‘It  is  the  time  for  waking  the  sleeper,”  and  applying  a 
sponge  to  the  face,  slowly  the  dark  eyes  opened ; one  long, 
deep  sigh,  and  now  another ; the  hands  moved  gently,  and 
a soft  smile  played  around  the  mouth,  as,  peering  into  the 
distance,  the  gaze  of  the  dark  eyes  became  more  intense, 
more  intelligent,  and  the  lips  whispered  faintly : 

“ Guy,  art  there,  my  own  ? ” 

“ Can  I call  him  ? ” said  Miriam,  eagerly. 

“ Thou  canst ; but  have  thou  some  refreshment  imme- 
diately, in  small  quantities,  such  as  I order.” 

Miriam  beckoned  from  the  lattice,  and  Guy  hastened  to 
obey  the  summons.  Stretching  forth  her  wasted  hands,  a 
smile  of  pure  and  tender  sweetness  passed  over  Maude^s  face, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


269 


and  the  eyes  rested  with  a look  of  holy  love  upon  Guy’s 
bowed  form,  as,  unable  to  stand,  he  took  a seat  near  the 
couch.  Taking  his  hand  between  her  little  palms,  she  said, 
in  slow,  dreamy  tones : 

“Thou  hast  been  full  of  sorrow,  Guy;  and  I,  beloved, 
have  been  in  paradise.  I have  seen  the  shining  ones  in  the 
heavenly  city ; have  heard  their  harpings  like  unto  the  sound 
of  many  waters ; and  I have  seen  the  Lord.” 

“ But  thou  art  with  us  yet,  fair  saint,”  said  Guy,  “ and 
heaven  be  lauded ! Art  grieved,  Maude,  to  come  back  to 
earth  once  more  ? ” 

“ An’  it  is  the  Lord’s  will,  I have  naught  to  say ; but  it 
was  blessed  to  be  with  Jesus.” 

“ Be  quiet  now,  sweet  one ; for  thou  mayst  weary  thyself.” 

Miriam  now  took  her  seat  by  the  side  of  the  couch,  ad- 
ministering refreshment  at  regular  intervals,  and,  by  orders 
from  the  physician,  shutting  out  all  other  visitors  for  the 
remainder  of  the  night. 

There  was  great  joy  next  day  at  the  villa;  for  many 
hearts  were  bound  up  in  the  life  of  Maude  de  Vere.  She 
c^wld  scarcely  be  persuaded  that  she  had  not  really  been 
in  paradise,  and  seemed  so  grieved  when  told  that  she 
had  only  been  dreaming,  that  at  length  Father  Matthias 
said : 

“ Let  the  sweet  saint  enjoy  her  vision.  It  cannot  harm 
her.” 

And  so  Maude  repeated  in  her  own  artless  way  the  story 
of  her  visit  to  the  heavenly  city. 

Very  soon  she  is  made  acquainted  with  the  nature  of  the 


260 


/ 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


tie  that  binds  her  brother  to  the  lovely  Jewess,  and  Maud6 
is  more  anxious  than  ever  that  she  should  become  a Chris- 
tian. She  is  wan  and  wasted,  and  the  tender  care  of  her 
young  nurse  is  what  she  needs.  She  is  in  - an  apartment 
next  to  Miriam,  and  the  quiet  sanctuary  of  the  Eastern 
villa  imparts  its  healing  balm  day  by  day  to  the  invalid. 

She  has  brought  her  precious  book,  and  we  find  the  two  fre- 
quently comparing  their  Scriptures.  v 

Maude’s  thin  hand,  almost  transparent  in  its  frailty,  is 
lying  on  the  cushions  which  support  the  invalid,  when 
Miriam  enters  to-day.  Taking  it  between  her  own,  the 
Jewess  pressed  a warm  kiss  upon  its  whiteness,  saying; 

‘‘  This  little  hand  hath  worn  itself  out,  methinks,  in  its 
deeds  of  mercy,  and  must  not  work  again  until  it  is  rose- 
tinted  and  plump  once  more.” 

Seating  herself,  Miriam  is  reading  from  the  prophet 
Isaiah ; the  Hebrew  very  clear  to  herself,  but  has  much  dif- 
ficulty in  making  Maude  comprehend  her  efibrts  at  transla- 
tion. 

She  is  reading  the  fifty-third  chapter  slowly,  as  if  in  a 
questioning  tone,  the  words,  “ despised  and  rejected  of  men ; 
a man  of  sorrows,  and  acquainted  with  grief : and  we  es- 
teemed him  not.” 

‘‘Whom,  Maude,  meaneth  the  prophet?” 

“ Read  farther,  Miriam.” 

‘ But  he  was  wounded  for  our  transgressions,  he  was 
bruised  for  our  iniquities : the  chastisement  of  our  peace 
was  u[»on  him ; and  with  his  stripes  we  are  healed.’ 

“ ‘ Brought  as  a lamb  to  the  slaughter,  he  was  taken  from 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


261 


prison  and  from  judgment,  and  he  made  his  grave  with  the 
wicked,  and  with  the  rich  in  his  death/  Who  can  it  be? 
Isaiah  speaks,  and  he  is  a Jew.  He  speaks  of  this  person 
as  wounded  for  us.’^ 

‘‘Seest  thou  not,  dear  Miriam,  an  exact  description  of 
what  the  Gospel  telleth  of  our  Lord  ? I knew  not  that  such 
like  words  were  found  in  the  prophets.’^ 

“ The  religion  of  our  fathers  teacheth  us  that  without  the 
shedding  of  blood  there  is  no  remission  of  sins.  Can  it  be  that 
the  lamb  slain  by  the  high-priest  was  but  a shadow  of  the  Lamb 
of  God  that  taketh  away  the  sins  of  the  world  ? Oh ! Maude, 
an’  it  be  so,  what  have  we  done  ? Crucified  our  Lord ! ’’ 

“ Let  me  read  to  thee  from  the  Gospel,  Miriam ; ” and  in 
sweet,  low  tones  Maude  read  portions  from  the  interview 
of  Thomas  with  the  Lord,  while,  with  head  bowed  upon 
her  hands,  Miriam  listened. 

“ ‘ Then  saith  he  to  Thomas,  Reach  hither  thy  fingw,  and 
behold  my  hands ; and  reach  hither  thy  hand,  and  thrust  it 
into  my  side ; and  be  not  faithless,  but  believing.’ 

“ ‘ And  Thomas  answered  and  said  unto  him,  My  Lord 
ajid  my  God.’ 

^ Jesus  saith  unto  him,  Thomas,  because  thou  hast  seen 
me,  thou  hast  believed : 'blessed  are  they  that  have  not  seen, 
and  yet  have  believed.’  ” 

Miriam  raised  her  fine,  dark  eyes,  and,  clasping  Maude’s 
hand  within  her  own,  she  said,  in  tones  of  deep  feeling: 

My  Lord  and  my  God ! ” 

“Now  God  be  lauded  for  his  goodness  I”  said  Maade^ 
tears  of  joy  streaming  over  her  face. 


262 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


The  word  had  come  with  power  to  the  heart  of  the  Jewess^ 
aud  the  last  fortress  of  unbelief  had  fallen. 

“Not  only  the  prophets,  dear  Lady  Maude,  have  torn 
away  the  veil,  the  Gospel  itself  beareth  on  its  face  its  own 
livinity.  We  find  in  our  Scriptures  God  in  majesty,  power, 
truth,  and  holiness;  but  here  he  cometh  in  the  might  of  hia 
boundless  love.” 

Father  Matthias  is  frequently  by  the  side  of  Maude’s 
couch  of  languishing.  His  visits  are  so  consoling,  so  dif* 
ferent  from  the  other  priests  that  wait  upon  the  camp. 

He  has  embraced  with  his  whole  heart  the  Lord  Jesus  as 
revealed  in  the  holy  Gospel,  and  the  Spirit  of  the  Master 
has  taken  possession  of  his  whole  nature ; one  of  those  saintly 
ones  who  even  in  the  dark  ages  had  learned  to  hate  sin,  to 
love  holiness,  to  reflect  around  him  the  image  of  his  Lord. 

But  we  turn  our  steps  awhile  to  the  condition  of  the 
tedious  siege  of  Acre.  Another  foe  is  knocking  at  the 
gates ; for,  having  held  out  for  many  months,  the  city  was 
now  cut  off  from  all  supplies.  The  city  could  resist  no 
j)iiger ; and,  after  a short  truce,  which  was  asked  in  hope 
of  assistance  from  Egypt,  it  surrendered  to  the  monarchs  of 
England  and  France  on  r ory  rigorous  terms.  It  was  a scene 
of  great  humiliation  to  the  haughty  Saracen.  The  curtains 
of  King  Richard’s  tent  were  thrown  aside,  and  the  proud 
monarch,  in  his  knightly  armor,  stood  by  the  side  of  the 
King  of  France,  surrounded  by  distinguished  knights  and 
churchmen, — the  Archbishop  of  Tyre  bearing  the  cross,  Sir 
Bryan  de  Bourg,  in  his  Templar’s  white  robe,  bearing  the 
banner  of  England,  and  Sir  Jacques  d’Avesnes  that  if 


MAUDE  AND  M I R I A M. 


2G3 


France, — the  pavilion  being  filled  with  knights  in  armor. 
Before  the  tent  was  the  defeated  Saladin,  bowing  in  deep 
obeisance  before  the  lion-hearted  king,  his  emirs  and  other 
distinguished  officers  kneeling  on  the  ground. 

Saladin  was  to  restore  the  wood  of  the  true  cross,  which 
he  had  taken  at  Jerusalem,  release  fifteen  hundred  chosen 
Christian  captives,  deliver  up  Acre,  and  ransom  the  gar- 
rison by  paying  two  hundred  thousand  pieces  of  gold  ; the 
monarchs  of  England  and  France  agreeing  to  spare  the 
lives  of  all  the  Mussulmans  in  the  place.  On  these  terms, 
the  city  was  surrendered  and  the  cross  planted  on  its  ruined 
walls. 

The  garrison  and  inhabitants,  with  the  exception  of  some 
thousand  hostages,  were  allowed  to  depart,  and  the  Sultan 
immediately  broke  up  the  camp.  But  Saladin  failed  in  all 
particulars,  whether  from  unfaithfulness  or  inability  is  not 
stated.  The  ransom  was  not  paid,  the  cross  not  restored ; 
and  with  the  fanatical  ferocity  of  a crusader,  Richard 
cruelly  commanded  the  five  thousand  prisoners  to  be 
slaughtered  in  cold  blood,  the  king  boasting  of  the  mas- 
sacre as  an  acceptable  act  in  the  sight  of  heaven. 

Maude  in  her  pavilion  had  heard  the  fearful  order,  and 
rushing  into  the  presence  of  the  king,  she  threw  herself  at 
his  feet,  the  haughty  monarch  regarding  her  with  stern 
astonishment. 

“O  most  noble  king!’^  exclaimed  the  maiden,  with 
clasped  hands,  and  eyes  fixed  imploringly  on  his  fiice,  have  ' 
mercy  upon  the  prisoners ! They  have  done  nothing ; help- 
less, hopeless,  they  are  in  your  powerful  hands.” 


264 


MAUDE  AND.  MIRIAM. 


The  queen,  hearing  the  commotion,  liacl  also  entered  the 
tent,  and  threw  herself  by  the  side  of  Maude,  joining  her 
entreaties  to  the  pleader. 

“ Tut ! tut ! they  are  only  Paynim  dogs  and  miscreants, 
and  deserve  to  die  the  death  of  brutes.’’ 

‘‘  Say  not  so,  my  gracious  liege,”  continued  Maude,  tears 
raining  down  her  face.  “They  are  husbands,  fathers,  sons, 
brothers.  Think  of  the  anguish,  the  bitter  wails  of  those 
who  love  them,  and,  for  the  sake  of  Him  who  died  for  us, 
have  mercy  ! Spare  their  lives ! ” 

“ They  die  by  the  laws  of  the  crusaders,”  replied  the  king. 
“Take  her  away,  Berengaria.  Thy  pleading  is  in  vain. 
They  die.” 

The  queen,  raising  the  weeping  suppliant,  placed  her 
arm  around  her  waist,  supporting  Maude’s  drooping  head 
upon  her  shoulder,  and  thus  led  her  forth.  Raising  her 
head  for  a moment,  she  had  one  glimpse  of  the  five  thousand 
marching  out  of  Acre  to  the  place  of  slaughter,  surrounded 
by  a strong  guard  and  preceded  by  their  cruel  executioners. 

Falling  with  a heavy  weight  upon  the  queen,  one  of  her 
ladies  hastened  out  to  help  her  mistress,  and,  conducting 
their  burden  into  her  own  pavilion,  they  laid  her  gently 
upon  the  couch,  applying  restoratives  to  the  fainting  girl. 
It  had  been  a terrible  shock  to  Maude,  and  for  days  a deep 
silence  fell  around  her,  broken  at  length  by  a visit  from 
Father  Matthias. 

“ What  ailetli  thee,  daughter?”  inquired  the  priest,  who 
found  Maude  reclining  on  cushions  at  the  opening  of  her 
teat,  with  hands  clasped  before  her. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


266 


«Tl.e  massacre,  father,  passeth  before  me  day  and  night. 
I hear  the  cries,  I see  the  flashing  swords.  Can  this  indeed 
be  a holy  war,  which  inciteth  the  followers  of  our  Lord  to 
deeds  so  bloody?  Doth  our  loving  Master  smile  upon  such 
work,  or  are  we  indeed,  father,  all  deluded  ? 

“I  wonder  not  that  thou  feelest  thus,  daughter,  for  the 
same  vision  hath  visited  me  ever  syth  the  horrible  day. 
When  I read  the  Gospel  of  him  whom  Jesus  loved,  it  seem- 
eth  to  contain  not  one  word  of  such  cruel  murder ; and  yet 
Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  of  sainted  memory,  at  the  capture  of 
Jerusalem,  is  said  to  have  committed  deeds  as  dark  as  this, 
with  his  own  sword  aiding  in  the  massacre  of  men,  women, 
and  even  innocent  children ; and  then,  washing  his  hands 
of  the  blood,  and  exchanging  his  armor  for  a white  linen 
tunic,  with  head  and  feet  bare,  he  repaired  in  deep  humility 
to  the  Church  of  the  Sepulchre  to  confess  his  sins,  and  to 
pay  his  vows  of  thanksgiving  for  the  victory ; this  whole- 
sale murder  not  reckoned  among  his  transgressions,  I 
trow.” 

“ It  cannot  be  the  pure  religion  of  our  Lord  that  maketh 
men  so  cruel,”  replied  Maude;  ^‘and  with  the  Gospel  of 
peace  open  in  our  hands,  what  think  we  of  the  crusades  ? ” 
“An’  the  people  had  always  read  the  blessed  Gospel, 
daughter,  we  should  soon  see  no  crusades  upon  the  earth.” 
“ I am  so  weary,  father ; it  seemeth  all  so  unlike  what  I 
dreamed  of  at  Ravenscliff* ; — the  blasphemy  and  drunkenness 
of  the  German  soldiers,  the  tumult  of  the  camp,  pitching  the 
bar,  throwing  the  ball,  wrestling,  roaring  of  songs,  clatter- 
ing of  wine-pots,  and  quaffing  of  flagons ; the  king  himself 
28 


268 


MAUDE  A ^ D M r R I A M. 


ready  to  join  the  noisy  revels  when  the  humor  seizeth  him 
I tell  thee,  holy  father,  that  I long  for  my  quiet  turret.” 

'‘And  I,  daughter,  for  the  peace  of  the  cell  in  the  holy 
monastery.” 

The  sultan  w^as  not  slow  to  revenge  the  massacre  of  the 
hostages,  and  on  both  sides  repeated  butcheries  darkened 
the  hatred  of  the  combatants. 

After  the  surrender,  new  jealousies  arose  betw^een  the 
rival  princes ; for,  after  the  capture  of  the  city,  the  Arch- 
duke of  Austria  boldly  placed  his  banner  on  one  of  the 
towers;  but  no  sooner  was  Eichard  aware  of  the  daring  act, 
than  with  his  own  hand,  in  a storm  of  passion,  he  tore  it 
down,  rent  it  in  pieces,  and  trampled  it  under  his  feet.  The 
insult  was  neither  forgotten  nor  unavenged,  though  from 
that  moment  the  banners  of  the  kings  only  floated  from  the 
walls  of  Acre. 

Thus  arose  new  dissensions ; and  the  two  monarchs,  by 
taking  possession  of  the  whole  spoil,  dividing  it  between 
themselves,  gave  high  disgust  to  the  rest  of  the  cru- 
saders. 

Soon  after  this,  the  crusade  received  its  death-blow  by  the 
desertion  of  Philip  Augustus.  It  is  true  that  his  health  was 
seriously  affected ; but  there  is  little  doubt  that  the  overbear- 
ing conduct  of  Richard,  and  his  jealousy  of  the  great  supe- 
riority of  his  rival  in  a military  point  of  view,  was  the  real 
cause.  Philip  was  an  able  general,  a brave  knight;  but 
Richard  was  the  wonder  of  his  day  ; and  what  Philip  might 
have  admired  in  an  inferior,  could  not  be  tolerated  in  a fel- 
!ow-king.  As  bound  to  Richard  by  a treaty,  his  permission 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


267 


to  retire  was  asked  by  tlie  king  of  France.  At  first,  Rich- 
ard exclaimed  with  a burst  of  indignation  : “ Eternal  shame 
on  him  and  all  France,  if  for  any  cause  he  leave  the  work 
unfinished!”  but  added  afterward:  “Well,  let  him  go  an' 
his  health  require  it,  for  he  can't  live  without  seeing 
Paris.'' 

With  this  surly  leave,  Philip  hastened  his  departure,  hav- 
ing sworn  in  the  most  solemn  manner  to  respect  Richard’s 
possessions  in  Europe ; an  oath  which  he  soon  found  occa- 
sion to  break. 

The  Duke  of  Burgundy,  with  ten  thousand  men,  was  left 
to  support  Richard,  whose  next  work  was  to  repair  the  for- 
tifications of  Acre,  to  purify  the  churches,  and  to  restore 
the  Christian  religion. 

Maude  hails  the  latter  with  great  joy,  for  it  has  been 
many  months  since  her  feet  had  been  inside  of  a Christian 
church. 

The  Moorish  physician  has  been  summoned  once  more, 
for  the  queen  has  been  attacked  by  fever ; and,  employing 
his  skill  in  behalf  of  the  Lady  Jaqueline  also,  he  is  equally 
successful  as  in  the  case  of  the  king,  with  the  exception  of 
the  weakness  that  still  hung  about  them. 

Miriam’s  steps  forward  in  the  Christian  life  are  firm  auij 
decided;  for  the  one  great  fact  settled  in  her  mind,  obe 
dience  follows.  There  is  to  be  a grand  Te  Deum  in  the 
principal  church  of  Acre  ; and,  joining  the  procession  of  the 
ecclesiastics,  we  find  the  ladies  of  the  crusade  in  their  litters 
hastening  to  return  thanks  in  public  for  the  victory.  Miriam 
is  with  the  party,  anxious  to  receive  baptism  at  the  hands 


268 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


of  the  Archbishop  of  Tyre,  Father  Matthias  assisting  in  the 
ceremony. 

The  music  and  all  the  accompaniments  of  E jmish  wor- 
ship seemed  to  impress  Miriam,  whose  ideas  of  the  ancient 
pomp  of  the  Jewish  ritual  rendered  this  acceptable ; though 
it  was  but  a faint  picture  of  the  grandeur  of  the  old  ritual, 
when  the  Shekinah  rested  between  the  cherubim,  and  when, 
alone  with  God  in  the  Holy  of  Holies,  the  high-priest  offered 
up  the  sacrifice. 

Sisters  now  in  the  Christian  faith,”  said  Maude,  as  they 
took  their  seats  in  the  litter  which  bore  them  back  to  the 
camp. 

‘‘  I lose  nothing  of  the  faith  of  my  fathers,  Maude,”  said 
the  convert.  I only  believe  more,  for  the  old  Scriptures 
are  just  as  sacred ; but  new  light  is  dawning  upon  them, 
when  through  the  ceremonies  of  our  ancient  church,  and 
throughout  the  prophets  now,  I see  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  King 
of  the  Jews.  I love  my  people  just  the  same,  Maude,  and 
look  forward  to  the  coming  of  our  Lord  to  restore  our 
ancient  glory,  when  he  shall  reign  upon  the  throne  of  our 
father  David,  and  the  days  of  our  mourning  and  dispersion 
shall  be  ended.” 

With  locked  hands,  they  talked  of  Miriam’s  new  hopes, 
saddened  much  by  the  fear  of  speedy  separation,  for  there 
were  stirring  indications  of  a change  in  the  pf^sitlon  of  the 
Christian  forces  ere  many  days. 


CHAPTER  XXL 


ASCALON, 


HILIP  is  gone;  and  Richard  is  able  still  to  muster 


thirty  thousand  warriors,  and  is  contemplating  a 
change  of  base.  . 

Maude  and  Lancelot  are  paying  their  farewell  visit  to 
Miriam.  Many  tears  are  shed  by  the  two  at  the  thought 
of  meeting  perhaps  no  more  on  this  side  of  paradise. 
Lancelot  is  deeply  moved,  for  there  is  a bond  of  sacred 
union  between  the  young  knight  and  the  lovely  Jewess. 

“Wilt  wear  this,  Maude,  for  my  sake?”  said  Miriam, 
suspending  a small  pendant  of  precious  stones  by  a gold 
chain  around  her  neck. 

“ What  exchange  can  I make  for  such  a gift,  Miriam  ? ” 

“ One  thou  couldst,  that  I would  esteem  of  more  value 
than  all  the  precious  gems  within  my  casket  — just  one  copy 
of  the  blessed  Gospel.” 

Maude  took  her  treasure  from  her  pocket. 

“ I have  but  one,  Miriam ; would  that  I could  copy  it  for 
thee ; but,  Lancelot,  an’  thou  leavest  thine  with  Miriam,  I 
\/ill  copy  thee  another  when  we  reach  Ravenscliff  once 
more.” 

“ It  is  thine,  Miriam,”  said  the  knight ; “ and  the  blessing 
of  neaven  go  with  it.” 


269 


270 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


‘‘It  will  be  my  guide,  Maude,  tlirougli  all  ray  pilgrimage 
nutil  I reach  the  new  Jerusalem/’ 

One  more  tender  farewell,  and  the  three  separate — Miriam 
to  find  some  new  and  holy  work  now  that  the  camp  is  about 
to  move,  and  Lancelot  and  Maude  to  accompany  the  cru- 
saders., Late  in  August  the  army  was  ready  for  depart- 
ure; but  on  the  evening  before,  a midnight  mass  was 
held  at  Acre  for  the  souls  of  those  who  had  fallen  in 
battle. 

Early  on  the  following  morning  they  struck  their  tents, 
and  commenced  their  march  in  a southerly  direction  upon 
Jaffa  toward  the  sea-coast.  Richard  displayed  great  skill 
in  the  discipline  with  which  he  conducted  this  march. 

Nearest  the  coast,  in  communication  with  the  English 
fleet,  marched  the  camp-train  and  its  followers ; the  army 
itself  in  five  divisions,  the  Templars  in  the  van,  the  Hospi- 
tallers in  the  rear,  archers  and  other  light-armed  foot- 
soldiers  on  the  left  or  outward  flank,  to  check  with  their 
missiles  the  galling  onsets  of  the  Turkish  cavalry. 

By  day,  clouds  of  these  horsemen  hovered  around  the 
front,  flank,  and  rear  of  the  Christians,  harassing  them  with 
continued  assaults ; by  night,  Saladin  encamped  in  their 
neighborhood,  and  broke  the  repose  of  the  wearied  soldiery 
with  frequent  alarms.  But  the  unshaken  valor  of  the  cru- 
saders exhausted  all  the  arts  of  Asiatic  warfare.  Litters  con- 
taining the  ladies  of  the  crusade  were  in  the  centre,  all  un- 
der a strong  guard.  At  sunset  the  army  regularly  halted. 
During  the  night  the  loud  voices  of  the  heralds  thrice  broke 
the  deep  silence  of  the  camp  with  the  cry : ‘ ^rewember  the 


MAUDE  AND  M I R I A M. 


271 


Holy  Sepulchre ! rousing  the  slumbering  sentinels  of  the 
host  to  watchfulness  and  prayer. 

It  is  the  close  of  one  of  those  hot,  oppressive  days  so  often 
felt  in  Palestine,  and  Maude  is  faint  and  weary.  Gertrude 
Ellerton  is  supporting  the  sinking  pilgrim,  when  Father 
Matthias  rides  up  to  the  side  of  the  latter. 

“Cheer  up,  my  daughter,”  said  the  priest,  as  he  looked 
at  the  languid  eyes  turned  toward  the  voice ; “ we  are  half 
way  on  our  march.  This  glare  of  heated  sand  daunteth 
stouter  hearts  than  thine,  I trow.’^ 

“ I am  not  frighted,  father ; but  I was  thinking  of  the 
cool  shades  in  our  own  dear  land,  and  the  walks  in  the 
pleasance  of  Ravenscliff,  in  the  sweet  spring-time,  when  the 
tender  buds  put  forth  their  young  shoots,  and  of  the  soft 
summer  wdnds,  when  the  breeze  so  gently  stirreth  the  green 
leaves ; sometimes  my  heart  fainteth  with  home-sickness.” 

“Patience,  daughter!  Think  of  the  pilgrims  of  sacrea 
memory,  who  took  their  lives  in  their  hands  and  encoun- 
tered all  this,  and  much  more,  for  the  love  of  our  dear  Lord, 
who  died  for  them  and  us.  Here  we  have  hunger  and  thirst, 
scorn  and  mocking : so  had  our  dear  Lord.  Here  evil  beasts 
devour ; but  there  no  lion  disturbeth  their  peace.  Here  are 
hills  of  sand  and  burning  drought ; but  there  is  the  river  of 
life.  Here  the  fever  and  the  plague  wasteth  ; but  there  sick- 
ness and  death  cannot  enter.  Like  true  soldiers  of  the 
cross,  setting  their  eyes  upon  the  heavenly  country,  they 
went  onward,  and,  by  the  tender  mercy  of  God  and  the 
intercession  of  the  blessed  saints,  their  sorrows  are  all  for 
gotten,  their  tears  all  wiped  away.” 


272 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


**  Talk  thus  to  me,  father.  Thou  almost  makest  me  forget 
the  sorrows  of  the  way.” 

Think,  my  daughter,  too,  of  Him  who  suffered  when  He 
was  here  on  earth.  If  we  be  parched  with  hunger  and  thirst, 
so  was  He;  if  we  be  scorned  by  the  Paynira,  so  was  He;  if 
we  be  without  a home.  He  had  not  where  to  lay  His  head ; 
if  we  take  our  lives  in  our  hand,  He  did  much  more  for  us.” 
But  the  sun  is  sinking  lower  and  lower,  and  the  army  h 
halting  for  the  night.  Leaving  the  litters,  the  ladies  ?re 
seated  under  a small  grove  of  palm-trees,  watching  the 
golden  haze  of  this  sunset  hour.  The  western  breeze  is 
rising,  and  the  eastern  hill-country  of  Judea  shines  with  a 
deep  purple  brightness  for  a short  time ; the  clear  west  was 
in  a blaze  of  glory,  when  the  sun  dipping  suddenly  behind 
the  hills,  darkness  for  a short  time  followed,  — the  after- 
light of  a tropical  country  stealing  on  in  its  silent  beauty. 
The  west,  that  had  begun  to  die  away  into  a gray  tint, 
blushed  out  in  reviving  pink,  distant  hills  assumed  a more 
living  purple,  the  distant  murmur  of  the  palm-grove  came 
sweeter,  the  breeze  sighed  more  gently,  and  one  bright 
evening  star  peeped  forth  in  the  heavens. 

How  lovely ! ” said  Maude,  as  she  drank  in  the  beauty 
v>f  the  landscape,  and  felt  the  reviving  influence  of  the  west 
ern  breeze. 

The  vesper  aves  have  been  said,  and  the  hour  of  compline 
stealeth  on.  Bowing  their  heads  and  telling  their  rosaries, 
the  party  under  the  palm-trees  recite  seven  Pater-nosters ; 
the  most  devout  among  the  crusaders  reciting  daily  fifty 
«cven  in  all. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


273 


Maude  closed  her  eyes  in  silence,  and  in  her  own  way  re- 
peated her  evening  prayer. 

“ Seeineth  it  not  very  strange,  mother  mine,”  said  Maude 

that  the  Church  teacheth  us  to  count  our  prayers,  — thir 
teen  at  matins,  nine  at  vespers,  and  seven  at  compline?  It 
seeineth  laid  out  just  for  a weary  task,  when  the  heart 
that  loveth  to  pray  goeth  out  at  all  times,  just  like  unto 
the  vapor  rising  on  dewy  wings  to  descend  upon  us  again  in 
gentle  blessing,  — heavenward,  earthward,  — until  the  last 
taketh  us  up  above  the  region  of  prayer  to  that  of  holy 
lauds  in  the  paradise  above.” 

The  morning  of  the  sixteenth  day  dawned  beautifully 
clear,  a few  fleecy  clouds  sped  across  the  sky,  casting  the 
shadows  on  hill  and  dale,  filling  the  earth,  air,  and  sky  with 
a dazy  brightness,  that  a foreign  tongue  calls  the  rosicler  of 
a summer  day.  The  Archbishop  of  Tyre  felt  that  a conflict 
was  near.  Already  the  cry  of  the  muezzins  had  been  heard 
calling  to  prayer. 

“ To  prayer ! to  prayer ! God  is  the  one  God  1 
To  prayer!  to  prayer!  Time  is  flying! 

To  prayer!  to  prayer!  Judgment  is  drawing  nigh  to  you.” 

The  bishop,  clad  in  complete  armor,  bearing  the  true 
cross,  ascended  a mount,  and  addressed  the  army  as  far  aa 
his  loud  and  powerful  voice  could  be  heard. 

‘‘Barons  and  knights,”  he  said,  “men-at-arms  that  are 
children  of  this  land,  pilgrims  that  have  come  fr^^m  the 
far  ends  of  the  earth  to  do  homage  to  Christ’s  dear  love,  you 
are  soon  to  meet  his  great  enemy  and  ours.  Our  number# 

S 


274  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

are  smaller  to  an  earthly  eye  than  theirs ; but  could  oui 
eyes  be  purged  to  behold  the  world  of  unseen  things, 
should  see  an  innumerable  multitude  fighting  for  us.  It 
may  be  that  Godfrey  de  Bouillon,  of  sacred  memory,  shall 
do  more  wondrous  deeds  to-day  than  when  he  scaled  the 
walls  of  the  Holy  City,  and  that  the  saints  who  laid  down 
their  lives  for  the  Holy  Cross  are  already  out  in  battle-array 
to  fight  for  us  in  our  day  of  need.  But,  above  all,  we  have 
the  unconquered  cross  of  our  Saviour  Christ  that  conquered 
the  Persians.  How  shall  it  not  do  valiantly  against  the 
Saracens?  And  doubt  not  that  albeit  the  voices  of  Saint 
Peter  and  Saint  Bernard  are  hushed  in  death,  their  spirits 
are  active  in  our  behalf.  Doubt  not  that  they  are  present 
with  us,  putting  courage  into  our  hearts  and  strength  into 
our  arms.  Do  we  our  part,  and  they  will  not  fail  us. 
Knights  of  the  Temple,  lances  of  St.  John  of  Jerusalem,  the 
stay  and  prop  of  Christ’s  Church  in  this  land,  let  the  field 
of  Ascalon  be  as  famous  as  the  capture  of  the  Holy  City.” 
Thus  spake  the  prelate,  and  the  Christian  host  shouted ; 
“ It  is  the  will  of  God ! For  St.  George  and  merry  England.” 
In  expectation  of  the  battle,  the  tents  of  the  ladies  were 
pitched  on  the  borders  of  the  camp,  under  a strong  guard. 
It  was  not  long  ere  the  brazen  kettle-drum  of  the  sultan 
sounded  the  attack,  and  the  whole  infidel  host,  with  the 
Saracen  war-cry  shrieking  in  their  ears,  was  suddenly  pre- 
cipitated in  one  tremendous  charge  upon  the  Christian 
array.  So  rapid  and  furious  was  the  onset,  so  superior  in 
numbers,  and  so  overwhelming  the  force  and  weight  of  the 
ghock,  that  the  small  squadrons  of  the  crusaders,  enclosed 


M A U J>  E A N 1)  M I U I A M. 


276 


within  their  own  infantry,  were  for  a time  crushed  together 
on  all  sides  by  the  pressure. 

Galled  by  the  Turkish  arrows,  the  chivalry  impatiently 
demanded  permission  to  extricate  themselves  by  a charge. 

“ Lead  us  on,  gallant  lion  heart!  lead  us  on  against  those 
Payniin  dogs  1 ” 

But  the  fiery  Plantagenet  alone  remained  calm  and  col- 
lected, watching,  with  dauntless  eye,  until  the  Saracens  had 
exhausted  their  arrows. 

“ Stand  firm,  brave  knights,  deliverance  cometh!”  called 
out  the  king.  Then  suddenly  brandishing  his  battle-axe,  he 
shouted  in  tones  of  thunder: 

‘‘On  Burgundy  I On  D’Avesnes  ! ” and  dealing  his  pow- 
erful blows  right  and  left,  he  let  loose  the  cavalry  upon  the 
Saracens  in  one  terrific  charge.  A cloud  of  dust  far  on  to 
the  right,  shrieks  from  the  infidels,  and  shouts  of  “Caesa- 
rea!^’ told  that  the  lances  were  doing  havoc  among  the 
enemy. 

“ Charge ! charge ! Ha,  Beauseant ! ” still  shouted  the 
fiery  king. 

Lancelot  and  Guy  were  gallantly  defending  the  holy  cross 
in  the  hands  of  the  archbishop ; Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  and 
Sir  Hugh  de  Courcy  bravely  defending  the  two  knights,  who 
were  sore  beset. 

“The  cross’s  weight  in  silver,”  shouted  Assoread-el-Kar- 
gel,  “to  the  man  that  shall  first  seize  it!  Its  weight  in  gold 
to  him  that  shall  keep  it!  ” 

The  bishop  was  sorely  })ressed,  placing  his  back  against 
a fragment  of  a wall,  with  laoth  hands  grasping  the  crosa 


276 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


Terrific  was  the  conflict  now,  for  a Saracen  had  succeeded 
in  wresting  it  from  the  bishop’s  hands ; but  Guy,  with  tre- 
mendous eflTorts,  defended  by  knights  and  men-at-arms, 
while  the  cross  swayed  to  and  fro  in  the  struggle,  obtained 
the  sacred  wood  once  more,  and  many  a brave  man-at-arms 
fell  around  him,  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  cross  as  they 
closed  in  death. 

Once  more  the  cross  is  wavering ; once  more  it  is  in  the 
hands  of  a Saracen,  who,  hand  to  hand,  is  struggling  with 
Sir  Guy. 

“ The  holy  cross  is  in  danger ! ” shouted  the  bishop,  who, 
with  his  battle-axe,  was  cleaving  on  all  sides. 

At  that  moment,  the  king  dashed  forward,  dealing  blows 
which  sent  terror  into  the  hearts  of  the  Saracens.  With  the 
fearful  cry : Ha ! Beauseant!  Fight  for  the  holy  cross ! ” 

he  made  one  stupendous  charge,  which  sent  the  whole  infidel 
host  fiying  to  the  hills  before  the  mighty  conqueror,  unable 
to  resist  the  steel-clad  squadrons  of  the  crusaders. 

’ But  there  is  a deed  of  darkness  in  another  part  of  the 
field  of  Ascalon,  where  the  Baron  of  Hawks  worth,  seeing 
his  rival  in  an  unprotected  situation,  with  the  malignity  of 
a fiend,  rushed  upon  De  Vere. 

Thy  time  hath  come,  miscreant ! ” shouted  de  Mowbray. 
“Said  I not  that  I would  meet  thee  yet  in  mortal  combat?’ 

“ Hast  forgotten  thy  knightly  vow,  De  Mowbray  ~ sworn 
never  to  strike  one  whose  shoulder  beareth  the  cross  ? ” 

But  the  faithless  knight  was  dead  to  honor  and  truth, 
and,  rushing  upon  De  Vere,  attacked  him  with  relentless 
fury;  He  would  have  brought  him  down  to  the  ground, 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


277 


were  if  Aot  for  the  timely  succor  of  a dozen  men-at-arms, 
whO;  seeing  the  dastard  knight,  set  upon  him  ^\’ith  sword 
and  lance,  and  soon  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth  lay  welter- 
ing in  his  blood. 

The  day  is  with  the  lion-hearted  king.  So  sanguinary 
were  the  charge  and  the  pursuit  that  above  twenty  emirs 
and  seven  thousand  of  the  flower  of  the  Turkish  cavalry 
were  slain  upon  the  battle-field ; and  Richard  boasted  that, 
in  forty  campaigns,  the  sultan  had  never  sustained  so  severe 
a defeat  as  this  at  Ascalon. 

The  feats  that  he  performed  on  that  memorable  field  were 
almost  incredible;  but  certain  it  is  that  his  voice,  his  eye, 
his  look,  brought  inspiration  to  the  Christians  and  dismay  to 
the  Moslem  host. 

Richard  had  to  mourn  the  loss  of  a few  of  his  knights ; 
but,  among  these  brave  men,  none  were  more  lamented  than 
the  heroic  Sir  Jacques  d’Avesnes  and  the  gallant  Templar 
Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg.  The  king  found  the  former  dead,  the 
latter  mortally  wounded.  Too  far  gone  to  be  removed,  he 
desired  his  brethren  in  arms  to  kneel  around  him,  while 
he  received  the  offices  of  the  Church  at  the  hands  of  the 
archbishop.  He  lay  upon  the  ground,  the  king  and  Sir 
Hugh  de  Courcy  supporting  him. 

“God’s  will  be  done!”  said  Sir  Bryan.  “This  is  to  die 
as  I have  ever  wished,  — knightly  and  Christianly ; and  I 
do  well  believe  that  by  the  intercession  of  our  Lady  of  De- 
liverance, whom  I have  served,  that  my  pains  will  be  short 
and  ray  joys  long.  I pray  you  to  forgive  me,  all  that  are  here, 
24 


278 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIA.M. 


— for  methinks  it  waxeth  dark, — wherein  I have  offended 
any.  Sir  Amelot,  take  my  capuchoii  to  remember  me  by, 
I commend  myself  to  your  prayers,  brethren  in  arms.” 

The  archbishop  began  the  commendation  of  the  soul, 
while  all  the  knights  knelt  around,  and  ere  it  was  finished, 
the  soul  of  the  brave  knight  had  departed. 

In  another  part  of  the  field  knelt  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray 
by  the  side  of  his  dying  father.  He  had  confessed,  and  ob- 
tained absolution  at  the  hands  of  the  priest.  Scarcely  able 
to  articulate,  he  whispered : 

“ Lay  me  at  Hawksworth,  Guy ; and  may  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  my  sinful  soul ! ” With  these  words  the  knight 
departed  ; Guy  mourning  in  deep  humiliation  over  a parent 
who  had  so  transgressed  not  only  the  laws  of  chivalry,  but 
those  of  God. 

Without  further  hindrance  from  the  Saracens,  the  army 
now  pursued  their  triumphant  march  to  Jaffa,  taking  pos- 
session of  that  city,  Caesarea,  and  other  dismantled  castles 
in  the  neighborhood.- 

Richard  desired  at  once  to  march  upon  Jerusalem;  but 
was  prevented  by  the  opposition  of  the  French  barons,  who 
insisted  upon  the  necessity  of  rebuilding  the  fortifications 
of  Jaffa.  On  their  arrival  at  Jaffa,  the  funeral  of  the 
knights  who  fell  in  battle  took  place ; the  king  denying  the 
same  honors  to  the  remains  of  the  Knight  of  Hawksworth, 
who  had  so  tarnished  his  knightly  name.  Sir  Jacques 
d’Avesnes  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  of  French 
knights,  as  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  was  of  the  English;  and 
several  others  distinguished  for  valor  having  fallen,  the 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


279 


king  was  determined  to  bury  them  with  the  highest  military 
pomp  of  these  days.  For  each  knight  there  was  an  official 
present,  who  wore  the  armor  of  the  defunct,  mounted  on  his 
horse  in  full  trappings,  carrying  the  banner,  shield,  and  hel- 
ni(‘t  of  the  deceased,  the  point  of  the  battle-axe  downward, 
a token  like  a reversed  torch  of  death.  Six  horses  thus 
mounted  entered  the  church  at  Jaffa,  bells  tolling,  and 
solemn  rolls  of  music  filling  the  building.  Then  came  the 
Archbishop  of  Tyre  in  his  pontifical  robes,  bearing  aloft  the 
sacred  cross,  followed  by  the  priests  in  their  vestments,  who 
preceded  the  coffins  borne  by  knights  and  covered  with 
black  velvet  palls  richly  decorated  with  silver  fringe.  The 
Mass  for  the  dead  was  performed  with  solemn  pomp ; and 
although  the  Baron  of  Hawks  worth  was  refused  the  honors 
of  representation  in  this  procession,  his  name  was  remem- 
bered in  the  service  of  the  Mass. 

For  two  months  the  army  remained  at  Jaffa,  restoring  the 
works,  before  the  crusaders  again  moved  forward  toward 
Jerusalem,  reaching  Ramula,  within  a short  distance  of  the 
Holy  City.  Here  the  inclemency  of  the  season,  want  of  pro- 
visions, and  sickness  arrested  their  march,  and  Richard 
l)(‘gan  to  grow  hopeless. 

The  army,  therefore,  fell  back  to  the  coast,  and  the  winter 
was  spent  by  the  soldiers  in  repairing  the  walls,  and  by  the 
leaders  in  treacherous  intrigues  and  dissensions.  But  toward 
the  spring,  Richard  so  far  succeeded  in  restoring  unanimity 
as  to  gather  all  the  forces  under  his  standard,  and  at  their 
head  marched  again  toward  Jerusalem.  The  general  enthu- 
siasm was  enkindled  by  hope  of  success ; the  chieftains  and 


280 


MAUDB  AND  MIKIAM, 


soldiers  joining  in  a solemn  oath  that  they  would  not  quit 
Palestine  until  the  sepulchre  of  Christ  should  be  redeemed. 
But  they  are  steadily  on  the  march  now ; and,  encamping 
one  night  on  the  borders  of  the  valley  of  Hebron,  they  are 
aware  of  their  near  approach  to  Jerusalem. 

The  thoughts  of  near  proximity  to  the  Holy  City  banished 
sleep  from  their  eyelids,  and  soon  after  midnight  was  well- 
nigh  passed,  the  host  were  all  awake,  watching  for  the  dawn 
of  day.  It  v/as  a lovely  morning  in  the  spring-time ; and, 
waiting  for  some  time  in  silence,  the  sun  rushed  suddenly 
into  the  sky  with  the  glory  of  an  Eastern  dawn,  and  Jeru- 
salem lay  before  their  eyes. 

The  remembrance  of  all  that  had  happened  in  that  mighty 
city,  the  enthusiasm  of  faith,  the  dangers  through  which  they 
had  passed,  the  ills,  the  weariness,  the  sickness,  the  toils  that 
they  had  conquered,  the  end  of  fear, — the  bright  fulfilment 
of  hope  awoke  in  every  bosom  the  sublime  of  joy. 

“ Jerusalem ! Jerusalem ! ’’  was  echoed  by  a thousand 
voices,  as  the  sun  flooded  the  domes  and  minarets  of  the 
mosques  in  one  flame  of  glory.  Some  shouted  to  the  sky, 
some  knelt  and  prayed,  some  wept  in  silence,  and  some, 
in  transport,  kissed  the  sacred  earth. 

Father  Matthias  is  on  his  knees  in  deep  devotion ; the 
archbishop,  bearing  aloft  the  cross,  strikes  up  the  hymn 
Urbs  Beata,  and  soon  the  whole  camp  joined  in  the  volume 
of  sacred  music.  The  arrival  of  the  host  so  near  to  Jerusa- 
lem alarmed  the  Saracens.  Numbers  fled  from  the  Holy 
City,  and  even  Saladin  himself  despaired  of  preserving  hia 
proudest  conquest  with  such  a conqueror  at  the  gates  M 
Coeur  de  Lion. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 


THE  PILGRIMAGE  TO  JERUSALEM. 

HEN  the  Saracens  were  most  alarmed,  Saladin  wa« 


suddenly  relieved  by  the  unexpected  departure  of 
the  crusaders.  Many  reasons  have  been  given  for  this  un- 
accountable caprice.  The  best  attested  accounts,  however, 
attribute  the  abandonment  to  Richard  himself.  A variety 
of  reasons  may  have  influenced  the  act,  — the  treasonable 
defection  of  Burgundy  and  his  French  followers,  the  news 
from  England  of  the  dangerous  intrigues  of  his  brother 
John,  and  a secret  consciousness  that  the  resources  of  the 
crusaders  were  now  unequal  to  the  capture  of  the  city; 
but  it  is  vain  to  speculate.  Suffice  it  to  say  that  when  its 
v\^alls  were  in  his  view,  Richard  proposed  a council,  selected 
from  among  the  barons  and  chiefs  of  the  Orders,  to  decide, 
upon  oath,  if  it  were  preferable  to  engage  in  the  siege  of  the 
Holy  City,  or  to  make  a diversion  against  Damascus  or 
Cairo.  To  the  general  disappointment,  the  council  decided 
against  the  siege;  and  Richard,  amid  the  discontent  of  the 
whole  army,  commenced  a second  retreat  to  the  sea-coast. 
Whatever  may  have  been  his  motives,  he  felt  keenly  the 
shame  of  his  failure;  for  when  led  to  a height  from  which 
he  might  take  a last  view  of  Jerusalem,  he  hid  his  face  in 
his  shield,  exclaiming  t 


24  • 


2«1 


282 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“ Wret<'hed  kiug ! he  who  is  unable  to  rescue  is  unworthy 
to  look  upon  the  Holy  Sepulchre/^ 

Finding  that  Kichard  had  continued  his  march  from 
Jaffa  to  Acre,  Saladin  poured  down  from  the  hills  with  hia 
troops  on  the  former  city,  assaulting  it  so  unexpectedly  that 
many  of  the  Christian  garrison  were  slain  in  the  streets,  and 
the  remainder  only  saved  their  lives  by  shutting  themselves 
within  some  of  the  towers.  They  had  already  been  reduced 
to  sue  for  a capitulation,  when  Richard  suddenly  arrived  at 
the  port  to  succor. 

He  had  prepared  to  set  sail  for  England ; but,  fired  with 
indignation  when  he  heard  that  Saladin  had  renewed  the 
offensive  while  his  foot  was  still  in  Palestine,  he  threw  him- 
self into  a galley,  and,  followed  only  by  a few  knights  and 
archers  in  six  other  vessels,  sailed  for  Jaffa,  leaving  his  army 
to  retrace  their  march  after  him  along  the  coast.  When  his 
small  squadron  reached  the  shore,  finding  that  the  garrison 
still  held  out,  with  his  shield  around  his  neck  and  his 
Danish  axe  in  his  hand,  he  plunged  into  the  sea.  Inspired 
by  his  heroism,  his  attendants  quickly  followed ; Lancelot 
and  Guy  close  upon  his  footsteps.  The  Moslems  were  so 
dismayed  by  the  fury  of  his  attack,  that  they  fled  before 
this  handful  of  assailants,  and  abandoned  Jaffa  to  its  de- 
liverers. 

Richard  had  with  him  but  fifty-five  knights,  — ten  only 
mounted, — and  two  thousand  foot-soldiers.  He  displayed 
his  contempt  for  the  infidels  by  encamping  without  the  gates ; 
and  in  this  situation,  on  the  second  day  of  his  arrival,  the 
Turkish  cavalry,  recovering  from  their  surprise  and  finding 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


283 


the  smallnesa  of  his  force;  renewed  the  F.ttack  in  overwhelm- 
ing numbers. 

lie  not  only  sustained  their  charges,  but  rushed  into  the 
thickest  of  their  squadrons  at  the  head  of  his  ten  knights, 
everywhere  carrying  death  and  confusion  into  their  ranks. 
Whole  squadrons  fled  before  him.  Never  had  he  done  such 
deeds  of  valor  and  strength.  When  Saladin  saw  his  troops 
flying,  he  is  said  to  have  asked : 

“ Where  is  the  King  of  England  ? ” 

“ There,  sire,  upon  that  hillock  with  his  men.’' 

“ What ! ’’  cried  the  sultan.  “ The  king  on  foot  among 
his  servants  ! This  is  not  as  it  should  be,’’  and  Saladin  sent 
him  a horse,  charging  the  messenger  to  say  that  such  a 
man  ought  not  to  remain  on  foot  in  so  great  danger.” 

Night  put  an  end  to  the  unequal  conflict ; but  so  hopeless 
now  was  Saladin,  that  he  raised  the  siege  of  Jaffa  without 
any  farther  attempt. 

This  was  the  last  and  most  brilliant  achievement  of  the 
lion-hearted  king  on  the  shores  of  Palestine,  and  with  it 
ended  the  third  crusade.  His  violent  exertions  had  brought 
on  a return  of  fever;  and  Saladin  himself  was  wearied 
with  fruitless  hostilities  and  laboring  under  a bodily  de- 
cline, which  in  a few  months  laid  him  in  the  grave. 

Richard  consented  to  dismantle  the  fortifications  of  Asca- 
lon ; and  the  sultan,  on  his  part,  agreed  to  leave  the  Chris- 
tians in  possession  of  Tyre,  Acre,  and  Jaffa,  with  the  mari- 
time territory  between  the  first  and  last  of  these  cities,  to 
abstain  from  attacking  the  tarritories  of  Antioch  and  tbs 


284 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


Count  of  Tripoli,  and  to  grant  ail  Christian  pilgrims  fte# 
access  to  the  holy  places  of  Jerusalem.  On  these  terms  thci 
two  monarchs  concluded  a truce  between  the  nations  of  their 
respective  faith  for  three  years  and  three  months ; and  Rich- 
ard prepared  to  bid  a last  adieu  to  the  scene  of  his  glory. 
We  will  follow  him  to  his  tent  on  the  evening  after  these 
events. 

Thus  endeth  our  dream  of  glory,  Berengaria,”  said  the 
king.  We  are  needed  in  England  more  than  in  Palestine, 
an’  all  that  reacheth  us  be  true ; for  our  treacherous  brother 
soweth  dissensions  in  our  realm.” 

“ Now  that  the  way  is  open,”  replied  the  queen,  “ we 
would  join  the  pilgrims  that  march  to  Jerusalem ; for  thou- 
sands will  go  to  worship  at  the  holy  places.” 

“ An’  we  could  go  with  thee,  fair  queen,  it  would  be  well ; 
but  the  defeated  leader  of  the  third  crusade  looketh  not 
upon  the  sacred  spot  that  he  could  not  conquer  ; and  thou 
returnest  to  England  speedily  with  our  sister  Joan.” 

“Without  thee,  my  liege?”  throwing  her  arms  around 
his  neck. 

“We  follow  with  the  army,  Berengaria;  and  we  be  not 
[)arted  long  season.” 

Maude  is  weary  and  heart-sick  of  bloodshed,  strife,  and 
wickedness,  longing  for  the  quiet  of  England,  but  unwilling 
to  leave  Palestine  without  the  long-desired  visit  to  Jerusa- 
lem. She  is  talking  with  her  brother  Lancelot,  at  the  close 
3f  this  eventful  day. 

“What  thinkest  thou,  good  brother?”  said  the  young 
lady.  “ Would  our  Miriam  join  us  in  our  pilgrimage?  ” 


M A.  U D E AND  MIRIAM 


286 


Doubtless  such  would  be  her  desire.  I will  send  a guard 
for  her.  Jerusalem  is  doubly  sacred  to  her,  as  a Jewess  and 
a Christian,  Maude.” 

Without  delay  we  find  Miriam,  in  pilgrim  garb,  among 
the  crusaders. 

When  the  first  joyful  greetings  were  over,  Miriam,  hold- 
ing Maude  in  her  arms,  said,  anxiously : 

‘‘Thou  lookest  pale  and  weary,  Maude.  What  aileth 
thee?” 

Smiling  languidly,  she  replied  : 

“So  weary  of  burning  sands  and  chilling  dews,  of  blood- 
shed and  strife  and  sorrows ; longing  for  the  quiet  turret  and 
my  blessed  Gospel,  longing  for  the  cool  fields  of  my  native 
land.” 

Berengaria  and  her  court  are  preparing  to  sail  for  Eng- 
land. The  king  is  at  Acre,  making  preparations  to  follow; 
but  ere  he  left,  he  bestowed  upon  Lancelot  and  Guy  especial 
marks  of  the  royal  favor,  by  conferring  upon  each  the  order 
of  the  Golden  Star. 

The  pilgrims  have  purchased  the  palmer’s  garb  at  Jaffa, 
and  a large  company  of  knights,  peasants,  and  persons  of  all 
grades  in  life,  join  the  procession ; the  ladies  and  invalids  in 
litters.  Outside  of  the  Holy  City,  the  company  dismount, 
and,  barefoot,  prepare  for  their  march. 

The  archbishop,  bearing  the  holy  cross,  barefoot  like  the 
rest,  headed  the  procession,  the  clergy  following  after.  Then 
came  the  throng  of  knights  and  men-at  arms  and  ladies  all 
on  foot,  save  Maude,  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  and  Wilfre^^l 


286 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


d’Arcy,  too  weak  to  walk  far.  Entering  the  first  gate,  the 
whole  multitude  sung  the  palmer’s  hymn : 

“Holy  city,  happy  city, 

Built  on  Christ,  and  sure  as  He; 

From  my  weary  journeying. 

From  the  wastes  I cry  to  thee ; 

Longing,  sighing,  hasting,  crying, 

Till  within  thy  walls  I be. 

Ah  I what  happy,  happy  greeting 
For  the  guests  thy  gates  who  seel 
Ah  I what  blessed,  blessed  meeting 
Have  thy  citizens  in  thee ! 

Ah ! those  glittering  walls  how  fair,  — 

Jasper  sheen  and  ruby  blee. 

Never  harm,  nor  sin,  nor  danger. 

Thee  can  tarnish,  crystal  sea  I 
Never  woe,  nor  pain,  nor  sorrow. 

Thee  can  enter,  city  free  I 

We  follow  them  as  they  pass  the  Via  Dolorosa.  Imme- 
diately beneath  the  window  where  the  Ecce  Homo  was  pro- 
nounced, the  archbishop  intoned  the  Deu6  Mens,  Deus  Mem 
— a thousand  voices  taking  up  the  Gregorian  chant ; and 
with  slow,  solemn  step  the  procession  moved  on,  the  Saracen 
population  looking  on  without  jeering,  for  Saladin  had  kept 
his  promise  of  allowing  none  to  disturb  the  Christians  on 
pilgrimage.  Now  they  paused  at  the  Church  of  Our  Lady 
of  Grief ; the  spot  where  our  Lord,  bending  under  his  cross, 
was  met  by  his  blessed  mother.  Then  arose  the  Stabat 
Mater,  echcing  over  Mount  Moriah  on  one  side  and  Mount 
Calvary  on  the  other  They  passed  the  place  where  Simon 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


287 


the  Cyreiiian  bore  tlie  cross  ; and  tliere  they  began  the  seven 
psalms  with  the  litanies. 

And  so  they  passed  on  by  the  house  of  Lazarus,  by  the 
spot  where  our  Saviour  said:  “Daughters  of  Jerusalem, 
weep  not  for  me,”  by  the  dwelling  of  Saint  Veronica,  by  the 
judicial  gate;  and  so  they  began  the  ascent  of  Calvary, 
chanting  the  Miserere,  and  then  continued  their  march  to 
the  Church  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre. 

It  were  hard  to  describe  the  highly-wrought  emotions  of 
the  Lady  Maude,  as,  bathed  in  tears,  she  stood  by  the  empty 
tomb ; solemn  funeral  dirges  chanted  by  the  priests  in  the 
chapel  in  the  meanwhile. 

Taking  up  their  march  outward,  to  allow  the  crowds  wait- 
ing outside  to  enter,  Maude  and  Miriam  asked  to  be  led  to 
the  places  sacred  to  the  Jews ; and,  standing  in  silence  on 
the  site  where  the  temple  once  reared  its  glorious  walls, 
Miriam  broke  the  stillness  by  saying : 

“‘Our  feet  shall  stand  within  thy  gates,  0 Jerusalem! 

“ ‘ Pray  for  the  peace  of  Jerusalem.  They  shall  prosper 
that  love  thee. 

“ ‘ Peace  be  within  thy  walls  and  prosperity  within  thy 
palaces. 

“ ‘ The  Lord  shall  build  up  Zion,’  and  ‘ He  shall  sit  upon 
the  throne  of  his  father  David,’  for  thus  saith  the  prophet 
Isaiah : ‘ The  Lord  of  hosts  shall  reign  in  Mount  Zion,  and 
ill  Jerusalem,  and  before  his  saints  gloriously.’” 

“When,  dear  Miriam  ?”  whispered  Maude,  looking  upon 
the  rapt  countenance  of  the  Jewish  Christian  with  feelings 
of  solemn  awe. 


288 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


“At  his  coming,  Maude;  when  our  people  will  return  to 
the  Holy  Land,  and  the  days  of  our  mourning  will  be 
ended.’’ 

“ They  will  be  Christians  then,  Miriam.” 

“ Y es,  and  Christ  shall  be  among  us,  as  the  king  so  long 
pioinised,  — Jesus  of  Nazareth,  King  of  the  Jews.” 

This  visit  of  the  crusaders  was  attended  with  no  expres- 
sions of  contempt  excepting  from  a few  isolated  individuals, 
such  as  are  found  in  every  community,  mocking  the  fallen. 
The  Bishop  of  Salisbury  was  entertained  in  the  sultan’s  own 
palace,  and  obtained  from  the  generous  Saracen  leave  to 
establish  three  societies  of  Latin  priests  in  Jerusalem,  in 
Bethlehem,  and  in  Nazareth.  Various  were  the  splendid 
acts  of  kingly  magnanimity  which  closed  Saladin’s  commu- 
nication with  the  crusaders. 

On  the  25th  of  October,  1192,  Bichard  sailed  for  Europe. 
The  fruits  of  this  crusade  were  small ; but  in  his  own  per- 
son he  had  acquired  a degree  of  military  glory  that  none  in 
future  ages  could  wrest  from  him.  He  had  many  failings ; 
his  own  arrogance,  as  much  as  the  jealousy  of  his  rivals, 
tending  to  create  disunion  and  frustrate  his  object.  But  he 
had  man)  noble  qualities,  and  carried  the  heart  of  a lion  to 
his  grave. 

After  encountering  a violent  storm,  which  scattered  his 
fleet  and  wrecked  most  of  his  vessels,  Richard,  in  a single 
ship,  touched  at  Lara,  where  he  lauded,  accompanied  only 
by  two  priests  and  a few  knights  of  the  Temple,  whose  garb 
he  had  assumed. 

From  Lara,  he  endeavored  to  make  his  way  through  Ger* 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


289 


many  in  disguise ; but  in  vain.  The  news  of  his  journey  had 
already  spread  ; and  the  unforgiving  Archduke  of  Austria, 
whose  banner  he  had  trampled  under  his  feet,  caused  every 
road  to  be  watched.  One  after  another  of  his  companions 
was  dismissed  by  the  king,  until  at  length,  with  a single 
squire,  he  arrived  at  a small  town  near  Vienna,  where, 
taking  his  abode  at  a petty  lodging,  Richard  sent  out  his 
squire  for  provisions.  Recognized  by  some  of  the  arch- 
duke’s spies,  Richard  was  taken  and  cast  into  prison. 

The  royal  captive  was  soon  given  into  the  hands  of  the 
Emperor  of  Austria,  who  concerted  with  Philip  Augustus 
the  means  of  detaining  him  in  secrecy.  His  confinement, 
nevertheless,  was  soon  known  in  England,  and  in  Palestine 
also.  No  sooner  did  Lancelot  hear  the  news,  than  he  re- 
solved to  set  out  in  search  of  his  master ; and  we  find  him, 
therefore,  in  the  pavilion,  seeking  an  interview  with  the 
Jewess. 

‘‘  I come  to  say  farewell,  my  own  fair  Miriam,  but  hope 
soon  to  meet  again.  I go  to  rescue  my  beloved  master,  and 
return  not  until  I discover  the  place  of  his  confinement,  for 
I am  solemnly  bounden  to  his  service.  But  there  is  a seat 
for  thee,  Miriam,  by  the  fireside  of  Ravenscliff ; for  I have 
spoken  to  tlie  baron  and  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  who  will  wel- 
come thee  to  England.  But  canst  thou  go  with  all  thy 
heart,  Miriam?  One  word  is  quite  enow,  and  that  be 
come. 

Turning  to  the  young  knight  a face  beaming  with  emo- 
tion, she  laid  her  hand  within  open  palm,  saying  sol 
emnly : 

26 


T 


290 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

^ Come  I ’ for  with  Ruth  of  ancient  memory,  Miriam 
sayeth : 

“ * For  whither  thou  goest,  I will  go ; and  where  thou 
lodgest,  I will  lodge : thy  people  shall  be  my  people,  and 
thy  God  my  God : 

“ ‘ Where  thou  diest,  will  I die,  and  there  will  I be  buried  : 
the  Lord  do  so  to  me,  and  more  also,  if  aught  but  death 
part  thee  and  me.’  ” 

Taking  leave  of  his  friends,  Lancelot  has  gone,  and  Maude 
is  overjoyed  at  the  thought  that  the  fair  Jewess,  whom  she 
has  learned  to  love  so  well,  is  indeed  to  be  her  sister,  to 
dwell  with  her  at  Ravenscliff. 

We  will  follow  the  young  knight  on  his  journey,  having 
met  with  Blondel  de  Nasle,  a favorite  minstrel,  whoj.  in  com- 
pany with  Lancelot,  visits  all  the  old  castles  on  the  Danube 
around  which  there  seemed  to  be  any  mystery. 

For  a long  time  their  search  was  in  vain ; but  we  find 
them  at  length,  at  the  close  of  a winter  day,  in  sight  of  an 
old  fortress  around  which  was  thrown  a great  air  of  mystery. 

A peasant  was  seen  standing  on  this  side  of  4he  moat, 
looking  up  at  a small  window,  where  there  was  evidently  a 
hand  moving  aside  the  casement. 

‘‘What  seest  thou,  my  good  man?”  inquired  Lancelot. 

“ A man’s  hand,  I trow ; an’  thou  waitrst  a moment,  thou 
hearest  some  good  music,  for  he  playeth  on  soraf»  sweet  in- 
strument ev'ery  evening  at  this  hour.” 

Just  then  a plaintive  air  came  wafted  to  them  on  the  even- 
ing breeze. 

Blondel  took  his  harp,  and  played  a familiar  air.  The 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


291 


musician  in  the  turret  ceased,  and  then  answered  it ; follow- 
ing with  one  still  more  familiar.  They  betrayed  nothing  in 
the  presence  of  the  peasant ; but  after  he  had  gone,  Blondel 
turned  to  his  companion,  and  said  : “ It  is  the  king,  ;cur 
beloved  master!  Would  that  we  could  see  him!  But  the 
window  is  too  high  and  too  distant  to  recognize  a face.” 

I trow  that  we  have  certain  knowledge  row,”  replied 
Lancelot.  Let  us  hasten  to  make  it  known.” 

The  place  of  the  king’s  confinement  was  soon  known. 
Knightly  honor  and  religious  feeling  were  invoked,  and  the 
infamy  of  detaining  a traveller  — a pilgrim  and  a crusader 
— was  proclaimed  with  the  powerful  voice  of  a people’s 
indignation.  Henry  at  length  felt  himself  obliged  to  yield 
some  appearance  of  justice  for  detaining  an  independent 
monarch ; and  Richard  was  brought  before  the  diet  at 
Worms,  charged  with  imaginary  crimes,  the  chief  of  which 
was  the  assassination  of  Conrad,  Marquis  of  Montserrat. 

Had  the  least  shadow  of  reason  been  left  on  the  side  of 
the  emperor,  Richard’s  fate  would  have  been  sealed ; but 
tlie  English  monarch  defended  himself  with  so  much  elo- 
quence, that  no  doubt  remained  in  the  minds  of  his  audi- 
ence, and  his  ransom  was  agreed  upon  at  one  hundred  thou- 
sand marks  of  silver.  This  money  was  obtained  with  diffi- 
ciilty ; and  John  and  Philip  strove  to  raise  greater  sums,  to 
tempt  the  cupidity  of  the  emperor  to  retain  the  lion-hearted 
monarch.  The  avaricious  Henry  hesitated ; and  thus  was 
the  liberty  of  the  noble  king  of  England  set  up  at  auction, 
till  the  Germanic  body  indignantly  intei-fered,  the  runsom 
waa  paid,  and  Richard  was  released. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


THE  PRIORY  OF  ST.  AGNES, 


NXIOUS  to  visit  still  more  of  the  holy  places,  we  find 


the  De  Veres,  Sir  Guy  cle  Mowbray,  Miriam,  and  a 
few  more  pilgrims,  with  Father  Matthias,  seeking  the  gar- 
den of  Gethseraane,  wh-ich,  with  uncovered  heads,  they 
entered  barefoot,  chanting  one  of  the  old  Latin  hymns,  and 
gathering  from  the  sacred  place  some  leaves  and  wild  flowers, 
to  be  kept  as  sacred  relics,  then  onward  to  the  Mount  of 
Olives  they  pursued  their  pilgrim  path.  Ascending  its 
sacred  height,  for  a few  minutes  they  stood  in  silence,  and 
then  Father  Matthias  spoke  : 

“ From  this  holy  mount  our  Lord  ascended  into  heaven 
nearly  twelve  hundred  years  agone,  spreading  out  his  blessed 
hands  in  hrdy  benediction  as  he  vanisheth  out  of  sight;  and 
on  this  very  Mount  of  Olives  he  cometh  again  when  he 
de^scendetli  to  judge  the  world.  Let  us,  beloved,  be  found 
ready  to  meet  him  at  his  coming ; and  so  the  priest  con- 
tinued a train  of  solemn  and  eloquent  appeals,  at  the  clcee 
ail  joining  in  the  ascension  hymn  of  the  venerable  Bede : 

“A  hymn  of  glory  let  us  sing; 

New  songs  throughout  the  wdrld  shall  ring; 


292 


MAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


293 


By  a new  way  none  ever  trod, 

Christ  mouuteth  to  the  throne  of  God. 

‘ The  apostles  on  the  mountain  stand,  — 

The  mystic  mount  in  Holy  Land ; 

They,  with  the  Virgin-mother,  see 
Jesus  ascend  in  majesty. 

‘The  angels  say  to  the  eleven: 

‘Why  stand  ye  gazing  into  heaven? 

This  is  the  Saviour, — this  is  Hel 
Jesus  hath  triumphed  gloriously  1 * 

"‘They  said  the  Lord  should  come  again. 

As  these  beheld  him  rising  then, 

Calm,  soaring  through  the  radiant  sky. 

Mounting  its  dazzling  summits  high. 

“ May  our  affections  thither  tend 
And  thither  constantly  ascend, 

Where,  seated  on  the  Father’s  throne. 

The  reigning  in  the  heavens  we  own  I 

“Be  Thou  our  present  joy,  0 Lord  1 
Who  wilt  be  ever  our  reward; 

And,  as  the  countless  ages  flee. 

May  all  our  glory  be  in*  Thee  I” 

We  will  direct  our  steps  to  the  Priory  of  St.  Agnes,  where 
Eveline  has  been  all  these  weary  months,  even  years,  with- 
out tidings  from  those  she  loved,  save  the  news  which 
reached  England  of  events  in  the  Holy  Land,  frequently 
26* 


294  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

false  rumors:  for  there  were  no  posts  in  those  days,  and  only 
by  private  hand  could  friends  communicate. 

But  such  an  opportunity  has  come  at  length ; and  a holy 
palmer  is  at  the  gate  of  the  convent,  direct  from  Palestine, 
having  come  on  the  fleet  that  brought  the  queen  to  Eng- 
land. 

The  prioress  extended  a hearty  welcome  to  the  palmer, 
raying : 

“Hast  news  from  the  holy  land?  for  truly  our  hearts 
pineth  for  tidings.’’ 

Drawing  a letter  from  his  scrip,  he  replied : 

“I  have  that  for  the  Lady  Eveline  de  Vere  that  glad- 
deth  her  hear^^  I trow,”  handing  the  letter  to  the  prioress. 

Ordering  refreshment  for  the  palmer,  the  lady  sought  the 
presence  of  her  niece ; and  holding  the  letter  before  her, 
Eveline  sprang  forward  with  hands  clasped,  exclaiming : 

“From  Palestine!  Would  that  I could  read  the  dear 
words ! ” 

Seated  quickly,  eagerly  she  listened  to  the  contents,  which 
had  been  written  but  recently. 

’ To  MY  WELL-BELOVED  SiSTER  EvELINE  DE  VeRE: 

“ 111  this  far-off  land  of  the  burning  sun  and  scorching  sand, 
mine  eyes  turn  ever,  with  eager  longing,  to  the  green  trees 
and  cool  shades  of  Ravenscliff,  and  to  thee,  sister  mine,  the 
more  beloved  from  the  long  absence. 

“AVe  have  seen  perils  by  sea  and  perils  by  land,  sick- 
ness and  wasting  fever,  and  bloody  strife  and  wickedness 
abounding,  dearest  Eveline,  that  make  me  long  for  the  quiet 
turret  and  the  winter  fireside ; albeit  the  sharp,  fierce  winds 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM, 


296 


whistle  through  the  old  castle.  By  the  blessing  of  God,  we 
are  all  alive ; albeit  many  a brave  knight  sleepeth  with  legs 
crossed  and  hand  sheathing  the  sword,  resting  from  his  toils, 
so  far  from  home. 

“ But  I wot,  sister  mine,  that  thou  art  waiting  for  a name 
dear  to  thee,  and  would  fain  hear  of  Sir  Walter  de  Courte- 
nay ere  I write  of  others.  Thy  gallant  knight  is  well,  Eve- 
line, and  hath  distinguished  himself  in  several  battles.  He 
was  wounded  at  Jaffa,  but  not  severely. 

^‘He  pineth  for  sight  of  thee,  sister  mine;  and  I trow 
that  will  be  a joyful  day,  when  thou  seest  the  cavalcade  of 
the  returning  crusaders  crossing  the  drawbridge  at  Ravens- 
cliff. 

‘‘We  have  had  much  converse  with  Sir  Walter,  and  the 
more  we  wot  of  him,  the  more  we  love  and  honor  him.  He 
sendeth  a box  of  gifts  to  thee  by  the  palmer  who  beareth 
this  letter.  I could  wish  much  to  see  thy  bright  face  when 
opening  thy  treasures,  for  there  are  some  brave  gifts  among 
them  for  a young  demoiselle. 

“ Many  of  us  are  sore  wasted  by  reason  of  the  fever  that 
consumeth  our  flesh ; but  we  are  bounden  by  our  sacred  vow 
to  tarry  until  the  end  be.  There  have  been  many  battles, 
and  much  sorrow  and  suffering  following;  and  for  a long 
season  I waited  upon  the  tents  of  the  Hospitallers,  where, 
in  mine  own  feeble  way,  I could  comfort  the  servants  of  the 
Lord.  I there  met  with  a lovely  Jewess.  Start  not,  Eve- 
line, while  thou  makest  the  sign  of  the  holy  cross  at  the 
name  so  despised ; for  I have  learned  to  love  her  well,  and 
so  wilt  thou.  Like  an  angel  of  mercy  she  hath  visited  the 
sufferers  of  all  nations  in  the  warfare ; and  thou  shouldst  see, 
sister  mine,  with  what  smiles  of  joy  the  Avan  faces  greet  the 
fair  Miriam  in  her  walks  through  the  hospitals. 

“ Lancelot  was  sore  wounded  in  the  siege  of  Acre,  and 
taken  to  the  house  of  Miriam,  where  she  tenderly  nursed 


296 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


our  brother,  and  thy  sister,  too,  when  she  fell  prostrate  with 
fever. 

talk  much  together  of  our  Holy  Scriptures . she 
reading  to  me  the  old  prophets,  and  I the  blessed  Gospel 
of  him  whom  Jesus  loved.  Miriam  hath  a quick,  inquiring 
mind,  and  none  of  the  hard  unbelief  which  we  have  been 
taught  belongeth  to  the  Jews ; and  so  it  fell  out  that  as  we 
read  together,  the  true  light  dawned,  and  out  of  her  own 
Scriptures  she  hath  learned  to  love  our  Saviour  as  her  own 
Messiah  — much  like  the  time  when  our  Lord  appeared  to 
Mary  as  the  gardener ; for,  like  unto  her,  as  we  read,  Miriam 
hath  learned  to  say  ‘ Rabboni.’  We  are  dear  friends  now, 
as  thou  wilt  be  also  when  thou  seest  the  dark,  eloquent  eyes 
of  our  lovely  Jewess  beaming  upon  us  all  around  the  hearth- 
stone at  RavensclifF,  as  one  of  our  own ; for  when  the  cru- 
sade is  at  an  end,  she  returneth  with  us  as  our  brother 
Lancelot’s  chosen  wife,  or  waiteth  for  him  an’  he  be  not  in 
Palestine  when  we  depart. 

“ It  was  a long  time  ere  Acre  capitulated ; and  then  the 
king  had  all  the  churches  purified,  and  in  long  procession 
we  marched  to  the  church,  where  a solemn  Te  Deum  cele- 
brated our  victory. 

It  would  have  been  one  of  great  joy  had  not  the  king 
ordered  the  cruel  massacre  of  five  thousand  Moslem  prison- 
ers in  cold  blood.  I besought  their  pardon  on  my  knees ; 
but  the  laws  of  the  crusades  ordered  the  terrible  deed  ; and 
ever  syth  that  day,  doubts  and  questions  arise  in  my  mind 
about  the  name  of  the  Holy  War  ; and  I begin  to  think  that 
in  our  own  England,  and  in  my  father’s  castle,  I can  serve 
my  Master  better  than  in  this  fierce  and  bloody  land. 
Lancelot  and  Guy  have  made  great  names  in  the  warfare ; 
and  the  king  hath  bestowed  upon  our  father  and  the  two 
young  knights  the  order  of  the  Golden  Star,  — the  highest 
honor  of  knighthood.  I must  not  forget  to  tell  thee  that 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


297 


our  Miriam  hath  been  baptized,  and  pai taken  of  the  Holy 
Eucharist,  and  is  now  with  tlie  Christians  heart  and  hand, 
as  it  regardeth  our  holy  faith.  We  had  a weary  march  to 
A.scalon  ; but  we  were  brought  safely  through  all  its  perils, 
a ad  after  doing  wondrous  deeds  of  valor,  the  crusaders  were 
victorious,  and  the  Saracens  fled  to  the  hills.  Lancelot  and 
Gjy  defended  the  holy  cross  throughout  the  battle,  the 
brave  knights  Sir  Bryan  de  Bourg  and  Sir  Jacques 
d’Avesnes,  with  several  others,  fell  mortally  wounded.  The 
Templar  died  like  a brave  knight.  And  now  I have  dolor- 
ous news  for  the  Lady  Edith  de  Mowbray,  for  the  Baron 
of  Hawksworth  was  among  the  killed,  of  whom  I will  tell 
thee  more  when  we  meet. 

‘‘The  battle  of  Jafla  closed  the  third  crusade,  and  it  is 
said  that  never  did  the  king  do  greater  deeds  of  valor  than 
before  that  city.  One  of  our  last  acts  was  to  witness  the 
funeral  ceremonies  of  six  brave  knights,  conducted  with 
great  pomp  by  order  of  the  king,  who  forbade  like  honors 
to  the  Baron  of  Hawksworth,  for  reasons  that  I put  not  on 
paper.  In  his  last  moments,  he  charged  Guy  to  bury  him 
at  HaAv^ksworth,  and,  under  the  care  of  a skilful  person,  his 
remains  have  been  embalmed. 

“ Then  came  the  great  event  for  which  I came  to  Pales- 
tine ; for,  Eveline,  I have  seen  Jerusalem.  My  feet  have 
trodden  the  hill  of  Calvary,  up  which  the  blessed  feet  of  our 
deu'*  Lor^i  toiled  on  the  doleful  night  before  he  sufiered. 
I have  a sione  from  the  holy  mountain.  Mine  eyes  have 
looked  upon  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  and  have  wept  holy  tears 
on  the  sacred  spot.  At  the  door  of  the  church,  I bought 
five  crosses  of  wood  from  the  Mount  of  Calvary,  — one  for 
the  lady  prioress,  one  for  thee,  one  for  Father  Ambrose,  not 
forgetting  good  old  Cicely,  and  keeping  one  for  myself. 

“ I have  stood  in  the  garden  of  Gethsemane,  and  plucked 
leaves  from  the  trees,  and  a wild  flower  from  tlie  spot  where 


298 


MAUDE  AKD  MIRIAM. 


oiir  I^rd  agonized ; and  on  tlie  Mount  of  Olives,  a small 
company  of  us  heard  Father  Matthias,  a holy  monk,  preach 
such  a sermon  as  I shall  never  forget. 

“ This  is  a reward  for  all  our  toil,  sister  mine ; but  new  I 
must  tell  thee  of  the  sorrows  of  our  pilgrimage.  Our  mother, 
the  Lady  Jaqueline,  hath  been  sick  of  fever,  and,  though 
relieved  of  that,  languisheth  in  great  weakness.  Wilfred 
d’Arcy  was  sore  wounded  before  Acre, — hath  had  the  fever, 
and  I trow  draweth  nigh  to  the  gates  of  the  holy  city. 
Sir  Amelot  de  Russy  hath  been  many  times  wounded; 
hath  endured  great  hardship  and  weariness,  and  will  fight 
never  again  in  the  holy  war. 

“The  queen  and  her  court,  with  the  king s csister,  Joan 
of  Sicily,  soon  sail  for  England ; this  letter  going  with  the 
fleet,  and  the  king  and  his  army  will  soon  follow.  Thou 
knowest,  Eveline,  with  what  devotion  I took  the  cross; 
but  two  years  in  Palestine  have  shorn  the  Holy  War  of  its 
right  to  that  name,  so  long  as  I read  the  blessed  Gospel, 
— debauchery,  blasphemy,  drunkenness  in  times  of  inac- 
tivity, pride,  arrogance,  cruelty  in  times  of  warfare, — 
this  is  not  the  way  for  Maude  de  Vere,  I trow,  in  which  to 
serve  the  meek  and  loving  Master  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John. 
Henceforth  a path  more  womanly  and  quiet,  and  more  holy 
and  heavenly,  will  be  my  choice. 

“Thou  wilt  bear  ray  reverence  and  love  to  good  Father 
Aml)rose.  Tell  him  that  I will  soon  be  at  Ravenscliff*  to 
make  his  furmety  and  gruel,  and  to  wait  upon  him  an’  he 
be  sick  And  good  old  Cicely ! tell  her  to  have  my  tur- 
ret ready,  for,  an’  we  sail  this  autumn,  we  be  with  you,  God 
willing,  in  the  winter,  or  in  the  spring  at  latest. 

“ Making  all  due  account  of  wintry  gales  and  detentions 
on  our  voyage,  we  hope  to  be  with  you  long  before  the 
cuckoo  sings 

“ Gertrude  Ellerton  and  Bertha  Ducange  have  borne 


MAUDE  AND  MlRIA  M. 


299 


their  hardships  well,  and  good  help  and  comfort  have  they 
been  to  the  sick  and  weary,  for  they  have  been  preserved 
from  wasting  sickness,  suffering  from  the  climate  only  a 
few  days.  My  greeting  and  dutiful  love  to  the  lady  prioress. 
Tell  her  to  have  prayers  for  us  at  St.  Agnes,  for  we  set  sail, 
I trow,  ere  long.  All  join  me  in  sending  much  love  — our 
father,  the  Baron  of  Ravenscliff,  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  Sir 
Guy  de  Mowbray,  and  Miriam  the  Jewess,  who  will  soon 
be  one  of  us.  God  he  knoweth  that  she  be  one  of  the  true 
followers  of  our  Lord.  And  so  I commit  you  with  much 
love  to  God's  dear  keeping.  Thus  writeth  Maude  de  Vere 
to  her  well-beloved  sister,  the  Lady  Eveline. 

Eve  of  St  Michael  and  All  Angels^  1192." 

Taking  the  letter  with  them,  the  Lady  Eveline  and  the 
prioress  hastened  to  the  castle  of  Bavenscliff,  where  they 
gladdened  the  heart  of  the  good  old  priest  and  Cicely. 

“ The  Holy  Virgin  and  the  blessed  saints  be  lauded  for 
this  good  tidings,"  said  Father  Ambrose,  crossing  him- 
self. 

“ I need  no  second  bidding  about  the  turret,"  said  Cicely. 
“ Truly  thou  hast  gladded  my  old  heart.  It  is  such  joy  to 
think  of  the  Lady  Maude  once  more  in  her  little  turret ; 
but  it  troubleth  me  to  wot  that  they  come  in  winter,  when 
there  are  so  many  wrecks  on  the  sea." 

‘‘We  will  have  holy  prayers  for  them  twice  a day,  good 
Cicely,"  said  the  priest ; “ and  the  blessed  Virgin  send  them 
in  safety  to  us  once  more." 

In  charge  of  a guard,  the  ladies  hastened  to  Hawksworthj 
wliere  the  prioress  read  the  letter  to  the  Lady  Edith,  with 
bolding,  however,  all  that  might  give  pain. 


300 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM* 


In  her  delicate  state  of  health,  it  was  a great  shock : but, 
turning  to  the  prioress,  she  said  : 

“ It  comforteth  us  to  know  that  we  can  lay  his  remaimi 
among  us,  and  can  inter  him  with  the  honors  of  knightly 
burial.’^ 

The  affairs  of  the  kingdom  greatly  needed  the  presence 
of  the  king,  and  the  readers  of  the  letter  were  glad  to  know 
that  he  had  left  Palestine ; for  John  was  busy  with  his  in- 
trigues among  the  nobles,  and  the  realm  was  in  a state  of 
great  disorder  and  confusion.  But  it  alarmed  them  not  a 
little  to  find  from  the  palmer  that  he  was  a prisoner  in  some 
unknown  fortress. 

The  crusaders  are  now  separating.  The  Baron  of  Ra- 
venscliff,  gathering  the  remains  of  his  gallant  host,  is  pre- 
paring to  leave  Palestine ; Maude  and  Miriam  parting  with 
the  hope  of  a speedy  meeting  at  Ravenscliff,  and  in  one 
month  after  the  king’s  departure,  they  sailed  for  England ; 
the  autumn  storms  near  at  hand,  in  those  days  of  imperfect 
navigation  the  more  to  be  dreaded. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


RETURN  OP  THE  CRUSADERS 

rpHE  voyage  was  tedious  and  stormy,  and,  with  the  miser^ 
able  accommodations  on  ship -board,  much  suffering 
was  endured  by  the  invalids.  Constant  sea-sickness  in  the 
heavy  gales  wore  out  the  frames  of  the  Lady  Jaqueline  and 
Maude,  and  Wilfred  gave  signs  of  daily  decline. 

The  sailors,  too,  had  begun  to  grow  suspicious  of  the  large 
box  on  board  that  contained  the  remains  of  the  Baron  of 
Hawks  worth ; for,  with  the  superstition  of  their  craft,  had 
they  known  that  there  was  really  a corpse  on  board,  they 
would  have  attributed  all  their  mishaps  to  the  presence  of 
the  dread  passenger ; but  the  fact  was  carefully  concealed, 
lest  there  should  be  a mutiny. 

In  the  closer  associations  of  a sea  voyage,  we  find  Guy 
constantly  t>y  the  side  of  the  Lady  Maude ; for  the  duties 
of  a knight  had  engrossed  his  time  in  Palestine,  and  had 
frequently  caused  weeks  to  intervene  between  their  mo- 
ments of  hurried  intercourse.  But  now  we  find  Maude  with 
her  cithern,  whenever  the  weather  allowed  it,  on  the  deck, 
singing  her  sweet  hymns  in  company  with  Guy,  (for  he  was 
beginning  to  love  the  same,)  and  improving  the  time  in  read- 
ing the  blessed  Gospel, 
ae 


ioi 


302 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


They  are  discoursing  now  about  the  wonderful  appea^ 
ance  of  the  Lord  on  the  Lake  of  Tiberias. 

“ Thou  seest,  Guy,  how  the  disciples  w ere  frighted  when 
they  saw  that  vision  on  the  water;  but  how  their  hearts 
were  cheered  when  his  blessed  lips  spoke  the  pi^cious 
words : ‘ It  is  I,  be  not  afraid.’  Methinketh  that  we  need 
tever  be  frighted  in  our  voyage  to  Paradise  an’  we  always 
1 ear  that  voice  of  our  dear  Lord.” 

“ The  din  of  warfare  drowneth  it,  I trow ; and  it  seemeth 
now  that  the  Church  of  our  day  be  sadly  astray  from  the 
Spirit  of  our  Lord.  How  cometh  it,  Maude ; for  holy  men 
Lave  often  led  the  army  of  the  crusaders?” 

“ We  know  but  little,  Guy,  of  the  history  of  our  world  in 
tbe  centuries  between  the  days  of  the  holy  apostles  and  our 
>wn ; but,  in  some  way,  a spirit  of  pride  and  cruelty  hath 
entered  into  the  Holy  Church.” 

“ Father  Jerome  saith  that  the  infant  days  of  the  Church 
needed  nursing  when  it  was  weak  and  persecuted ; but  as 
the  years  roll  on  and  heresies  creep  in,  there  is  need  of  pun- 
ishment, as  there  is  when  children  travel  on  to  youth  and 
manhood.” 

“ This  is  a hard  question,  Guy.  Which  is  the  heresy,— 
that  which  keepeth  close  to  the  footsteps  of  the  twelve,  or 
that  which  departeth  wide  from  their  holiness  and  heavenly 
love?” 

“It  seemeth  so,  I trow;  but  there  is  another  side  for- 
/ooth  I an’  they  are  gifted  by  St.  Peter  with  the  spirit  that 
crreth  not,  this  that  puzzleth  thee  may  be  the  Gospel  of  the 
present  day.” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM 


303 


Think  it  not  so,  Guy.  Our  blessed  Lord  changeth  not. 
His  ministry  is  ever  one  of  holiness  and  love ; and  that 
which  breatheth  not  his  spirit  is  not  the  real  Gospel.  But 
see,  Guy,  there  is  the  rising  moon.  How  calmly  she  smileth 
on  the  sea  ! It  mindeth  me  of  the  city  where  there  needeth 
no  sun,  neither  moon  to  shine  upon  it ; for  the  Lord  is  its 
everlasting  light.  But  this  mindeth  me,  too,  of  the  story 
of  the  old  boatman  that  we  met  in  Palestine.  He  told  a 
marvellous  tale  of  the  Lake  of  Tiberias,  saying  that  ever  be- 
fore the  day  of  the  transfiguration  there  shineth  a flood  of 
fire  all  over  the  mountain,  and  strange  sights  and  sounds 
for  those  who  have  courage  to  ascend  Mount  Tabor.” 

Wilfred,  too,  is  a listener  to  this  conversation ; and  not  a 
day  passes  by  without  hearing  the  words  of  the  Lord  from 
the  lips  of  Maude  de  Vere;  and,  comforted  by  the  sweet 
message  and  the  holy  hymns,  he  is  learning  to  look  with 
hope  toward  the  deep  river  that  he  is  so  soon  to  cross. 

After  the  sea-sickness  is  over,  the  Lady  Jaqueline  is  re- 
viving under  the  influence  of  the  sea -air,  and  is  anxiously 
looking  forward  to  the  day  when  she  shall  once  more  tread 
the  shores  of  England. 

But  as  the  winter  months  approach,  the  storms  are  more 
frequent  and  violent ; and,  disabled  at  last  in  a heavy  gale, 
diey  are  obliged  to  put  in  port  for  repairs,  which  detains 
them  a month  at  least. 

Setting  sail  again,  the  fleet  is  once  more  on  the  voyage, 
the  home  - sickness  increasing  with  the  long  delay.  But 
they  are  in  sight  of  England  at  length,  and  sailing  merrily 
up  the  channel,  with  every  pennon  flying  and  trumpets 


304 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


sounding  their  return,  amid  the  cheers  and  shouts  of  the 
multitude  on  the  shores,  they  cast  anchor  in  the  port  of 
Seaford,  where  all  the  bells  of  the  town  greeted  the  arrival 
of  the  crusaders,  but  are  obliged  tc  halt  awhile  to  disband 
the  troops.  And  now  the  baron’s  army  take  up  their  march 
for  home ; the  news  of  their  coming  having  travelled  before 
them  a day  or  two  by  a herald  dispatched  to  the  castle. 

Eveline  is  watching  in  the  turret,  for,  with  the  prioress, 
she  has  returned  to  Ravenscliff,  anxiously  waiting  for  the 
returning  crusaders.  It  is  a bright  morning  of  the  early 
spring-time,  two  years  since  they  had  left  their  native  land. 
The  warder  in  his  tower  and  the  inhabitants  of  the  castle 
in  the  walls  are  watching  too.  There  is  at  length  the  shrill 
uound  of  a distant  trumpet ; the  bells  of  the  churches,  for 
miles  around,  are  pealing  out  the  national  joy,  and  Eveline 
IS  straining  her  eyes  for  the  first  glimpse,  remembering  the 
glories  of  the  setting  out,  — but  what  will  be  the  return? 

Maude,  in  her  litter,  with  beating  heart,  is  watching  too 
inhaling  the  sweet  breath  of  spring  and  the  refreshing  pic- 
ture of  her  own  dear  England,  in  that  early  season,  — all 
the  way  they  are  greeted  with  the  ringing  of  bells  and  the 
shouts  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  towns  and  the  wayside  spec- 
tators in  the  country  districts.  They  are  ascending  a hill 
which  commands  a fine  view  for  miles  around. 

‘‘Ravenscliff!”  exclaimed  Maude,  as  the  joyful  tears 
rained  over  her  pale  face ; and  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  bowing 
her  head  between  her  hands,  shared  the  silent  joy. 

“ Home  again  1 ” said  Wilfred  d’Arcy.  “ Home  to  die 
— blessed  thought  to  one  so  weary  1 ” 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


305 


And  now  they  are  at  the  drawbridge.  The  banners  are 
lloating  on  the  barbican  and  on  the  keep,  the  people  on  the 
walls  are  shouting  in  transports  of  joy,  the  peasants  follow- 
ing the  procession  even  to  the  very  gates,  the  children 
(browing  up  their  caps,  while  the  rich  voice  of  the  baron 
calls  out,  “ Down  portcullis ! ’’  and  the  warder  with  his  one 
rough  hand  wipes  the  moisture  that  dims  his  old  eyes,  a>s, 
with  the  other,  he  obeys  the  order  of  his  lord. 

There  are  gallant  knights  and  noble  ladies  in  that  caval- 
cade, — there  are  brave  men-at-arms  and  banners  too  ; but 
out  of  forty-five  hundred  that  marched  out  so  gallantly,  but 
twelve  hundred  return,  and  the  banners  that  then  floated 
so  gayly  on  the  breeze  are  torn  and  tattered  jiow.  The 
baron  and  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray  head  the  procession,  wear- 
ing the  insignia  of  the  Golden  Star,  — the  latter  bearing 
the  cross  that  he  rescued  so  bravely  in  the  battle  of  As- 
calon.  Following  them  comes  the  brave  Sir  Walter  de 
Courtenay.  Then  come  the  litters  containing  the  ladies, 
Wilfred  d’Arcy  and  Sir  Amelot  de  Russy,  the  brave  knight 
who  will  fight  no  more. 

Though  defeated  and  disappointed,  the  knights  that  fol- 
low, with  the  dauntless  spirit  of  chivalry,  join  in  singing 
the  palmer’s  hymn ; referring  it  now  not  to  Jerusalem  be- 
:ow,  but  to  that  above. 

Father  Ambrose  is  at  the  entrance,  bearing  aloft  the  holy 
cross,  ready  to  welcome  the  brave  Baron  of  RavenscliflT. 

Not  in  the  banqueting  - hall  tarries  Eveline  and  the  pri*  . 
oress,  for  by  the  side  of  the  priest  she  stands,  tears  of  joy 
raining  over  her  sweet  face ; for  she  hath  seen,  with  beating 
26^  U 


S06 


MAUDE  AND  M I R I A M, 


heart,  the  waving  plume  in  the  tall  figure  so  long  looked 
for,  and,  in  another  minute,  clasped  in  the  arms  of  Sir  Wal- 
ter de  Courtenay,  the  long  suspense  and  weary  watching  are 
at  an  end ; then,  folded  to  the  bosom  of  father,  mother,  sis- 
ter, alternately,  the  rapture  is  speechless  for  a moment,  and 
she  exclaims : 

‘‘  The  Holy  Mother  and  all  the  saints  be  lauded  for  this 
blessed  meeting ! ” 

The  lady  prioress  is  a partaker  of  the  joy.  Old  Father 
Ambrose,  too,  is  garrulous  with  blessings,  and  Cicely,  in  the 
fulness  of  her  heart,  clasps  the  knees  of  the  Ladies  Jaque- 
line  and  Maude.  The  joy  is  felt  throughout  the  domains 
of  the  baron.  For  several  days  there  was  roasting  of  oxen 
at  Ravenscliff,  and  many  a barrel  of  good  ale  was  freely 
broached  in  the  banqueting-hall,  where  the  retainers  of  the 
baron  had  opportunity  to  express  their  welcome  in  their 
rude  but  heartfelt  way ; for  Saxon  and  Norman  mingled 
here,  at  least,  in  hearty  good-will.  Many  inquiries  were 
made  by  the  lady  of  the  castle ; and  the  Saxon  mothers  had 
their  own  grievances,  which  they  were  not  afraid  to  tell  to 
the  Lady  of  Ravenscliff,  whose  smile  was  always  ready  at 
accounts  of  their  prosperity  and  her  tears  when  listening  to 
their  sorrows. 

The  Lady  Maude  was  equally  engrossed  by  the  younger 
visitors. 

Maude  is  in  her  turret  once  more,  weak  and  weary,  look- 
ing out  upon  the  sweet  landscape.  The  fresh  tints  of  the 
early  spring  are  on  the  trees,  the  singing  of  sweet  birds  fill 
the  air  — the  song  of  the  cuckoo  bringing  tears,  it  sings  so 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


307 


much  of  home  in  England.  The  red  stork  is  building  her 
nest  again  in  the  wall-tower ; and,  in  the  midst  of  the  quiet 
repose  of  her  sanctum,  Maude’s  thoughts  are  framing  them* 
selves  into  visions  of  a future  life  of  usefulness,  in  which 
the  glitter  and  glamour  of  the  crusades  bewilder  no  more. 
Away  from  its  noise  and  tumult,  she  is  travelling  again  by 
the  side  of  the  Crucified,  — present  in  thought  at  the  mar- 
riage feast  at  Capernaum,  where  Jesus  wrought  his  first 
miracle,  she  adores  the  divine  teacher;  again  she  listens 
to  the  conversation  between  Christ  and  Nicodemus  in  the 
concealment  of  the  night,  weighing,  in  silent  gratitude, 
the  wisdom,  truth,  and  love  of  that  silent  hour.  She  sits 
by  the  well  of  Samaria,  where  Jesus  invites  the  woman 
to  the  living  fountains;  she  adores  the  mercy  that  heaU 
the  nobleman’s  son  and  the  multitudes  at  the  pool  of  Be- 
thesda.  Following  the  Lord,  she  listens  to  the  glorious  doc- 
trine of  the  resurrection,  and,  with  deeper  reverence,  reads 
the  injunction  of  the  Lord  to  Search  the  Scriptures,”  be ' 
cause  they  testify  of  him.  Watching  his  miracles  of  power, 
she  is  with  him  again  on  the  Lake  of  Tiberias,  and  hearn 
the  blessed  words  to  the  trembling  disciples ; then  she  studies 
with  all  the  windows  of  her  heart  wide  open,  the  precious 
doctrines  of  the  Son  of  God,  — his  wonderful  mercy  to  tin 
sinful  woman,  his  revelation  of  himself  as  the  Good  She])* 
herd,  his  love  for  Lazarus  and  his  sisters,  the  raising  from 
the  dead,  his  last  supper  with  his  disciples,  his  washing  nf 
their  feet,  his  words  of  cheer  to  those  who  were  so  soon  tc 
oe  bereaved,  his  last  prayer  for  the  church  of  the  redeemed, 
the  promise  of  the  Holy  Ghost  the  Comforter,  his  baptism 


308 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


of  suffering,  the  agouy  of  the  garden,  the  jeers  of  the  multi* 
tude  on  his  way  to  the  cross,  the  shame,  the  anguish  of 
Calvary,  the  glory  of  the  ascension  on  Mount  Olivet,  — all 
one  record  of  mercy,  one  bright  example  of  self-forgetting, 
self-sacrificing  love.  Back  to  the  day  when  John  the  Bap- 
tist first  found  the  Lord  by  the  river  Jordan,  she  reads, 
with  deep  emotions,  the  words  of  the  great  harbinger : 

Behold  the  lamb  of  God  ! ’’  and  as  one  after  another  was 
led  to  follow  the  Lord,  the  words  of  the  narrative  fell  upon 
Maude’s  heart  with  deep  power,  impressive  in  their  simplic- 
ity, suggesting  a world  of  active  thought. 

‘‘And  he  brought  him  to  Jesus.” 

In  reviewing  the  crusades,  she  remembered  naught  but  a 
record  of  fanaticism  and  cruelty,  of  blasphemy  and  revenge. 
Putting  it  side  by  side  with  the  example  of  our  Lord,  not  a 
lineament  could  she  trace  of  his  holy  character,  save  in  the 
benevolence  of  Father  Matthias,  the  simple  faith  of  some  few 
who  have  learned  truly  to  trust  in  and  follow  Jesus  in  the 
midst  of  mediaeval  darkness  and  superstition.  Looking  out 
upon  the  homes  of  the  Saxons,  the  huts  of  the  peasants,  and 
the  inhabitants  of  this  feudal  castle,  Maude  sees  now  what 
the  Lord  would  have  his  people  do  in  the  six  words  that 
have  opened  such  deep  fountains  of  thought:  ‘^And  he 
brought  him  to  J esus.” 

Day  by  day  the  image  of  the  Lady  Eveline  appeared 
first  in  her  prayers ; and  we  find  Maude  reminding  her  of 
the  engagement  of  long  ago. 

“ Dost  mind,  dear  Eveline,  of  the  pledge  made  before 
thou  wentest  to  London  ? 


&f  A U JJ  S AND  MIRIAM. 


309 


‘‘It  hath  visited  me  in  thy  days  of  absence, 

Maude;  and  sorely  it  grieved  me  when  thy  letter  came, 
and  the  lady  prioress  wotteth  much  that  I would  read 
alone.*' 

“ Art  ready,  Eveline,  to  take  thy  lessons  ? " 

“ Right  glad  would  I be,  sister  mine,  an*  I could  read,  but 
methinketh  that  it  be  hard  toil." 

Kissing  the  fair  cheek,  Maude  replied : 

“I  trow  not;  for  when  the  heart  longeth  for  aught,  the 
wit  cometh  with  the  toil." 

Thus  the  compact  was  sealed  between  the  two ; and  early 
on  the  following  day,  the  lessons  commenced  in  the  tur- 
ret, not  interrupted  by  the  presence  of  Sir  Walter,  who 
liad  returned  to  court.  Sometimes  discouraged,  Eveline 
would  have  given  up  the  task,  but  iMaude's  skill  and  per- 
severance kept  her  pupil  up  to  her  work,  and  in  a few 
weeks  there  was  progress.  Eveline  was  truly  happy  when 
she  found  that  she  could  read  simjde  words,  and  there  was 
no  turning  back  now\ 

But  the  letters  from  Sir  Walter  puzzled  the  young  lady, 
for  there  was  much  that  she  would  have  preferred  that  her 
eyes  only  should  read,  and  all  must  come  to  her  through 
Maude. 

One  day,  Eveline  lingered  in  the  turret,  evidently  with 
something  to  say. 

‘‘What  wouldst  thou,  sister  mine?"  said  Maude. 

“ Another  boon,  fair  sister,”  was  the  reply.  “Wilt  trou 
ble  thyself  once  again  ? " 

“ Methinketh  it  no  great  task  to  serve  thee,  Eveline.^ 


310 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


**  I would  give  much  to  write,  sister  miue.  Thinkest  thou 
that  I could  learn  ? ” 

‘‘  Doubt  it  not.  Thou  hast  taken  brave  steps  in  reading ; 
and  thou  failest  not  in  writing  when  thou  hast  such  an  ob- 
ject ; for  I trow  that  Sir  Walter  be  the  gainer.” 

And  now  we  find  an  earnest  pupil  in  the  turret  daily, 
Eveline  as  much  pleased  as  her  teacher  with  her  progress. 
Never  a day  did  Maude  allow  to  pass  without  reading  the 
blessed  Gospel,  1 ')oking  in  simple  faith  for  the  blessing. 

But  we  turn  awhile  to  Hawksworth,  where  ihe  Lady 
Edith  received  the  remains  of  her  lord.  Clad  in  the  armor 
of  his  father.  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray,  mounted  on  the  charger 
of  the  deceased,  richly  caparisoned,  bearing  shield  and  ban- 
ner, headed  the  funeral  procession ; and  Sir  Bichard  de 
Mowbray  had  knightly  burial  in  the  chapel  of  his  own  cas- 
tle, where,  amid  the  solemnities  of  a Mass  for  the  dead,  he 
sleeps  his  last  sleep. 

Maude  is  found  at  the  castle,  welcomed  with  outstretched 
arms  by  the  Lady  Alice  and  Blanche  de  Lacy. 

Seated  by  the  couch  of  the  Lady  Edith,  with  hands 
clasped  in  sweet  reunion  (for  the  estrangement  between  the 
two  families  had  never  chilled  the  love  of  the  females),  slie 
is  a blessed  minister  of  comfort 

Daily  visited  by  Father  Jerome,  who  is  a rigid  Romanist, 
the  Lady  Edith  partakes  regularly  of  the  offices  of  the 
Church ; but  the  sweet  readings  of  the  Gospel  by  the  Lady 
Maude,  and  the  heavenly  piety  of  some  of  the  old  Latin 
hymns,  are  really  the  food  which  nourishes  the  soul  of  th€ 
departing. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


311 


“ Thou  w lit  be  sister  to  ray  dear  children,  Maude  when 
lAou  coraest  to  Hawksworth,^^  said  the  lady.  “I  have 
ever  looked  to  thee  as  the  future  lady  of  the  castle,  and 
bless  the  holy  Virgin  every  day  that  she  sendeth  thee  to 
Cxiiy/’ 

Methinketh,  Lady  Edith,  that  there  is  much  need  of  wis- 
dom in  such  a calling,  for  I learn  in  the  Gospel  that  there  is 
more  than  ’broidery  and  music,  more  than  even  cooking  and 
surgery,  to  be  taught  by  the  lady  of  a feudal  castle.” 

Thy  holy  work  in  Palestine  fitteth  thee  for  saintly  work 
at  home,  I trow,  Maude.” 

“ Long  tarrying  in  that  land  hath  changed  much  my 
thoughts  of  the  crusades.  Lady  Edith.  I may  have  learned 
patience  and  compassion  there,  but  love  divine  only  in  the 
Gospel.” 

“A  long  season  of  wasting  sickness  hath  wearied  my 
heart  wholly  of  the  world,  Maude,  and  the  music  of  the 
holy  city  seemeth  very  near ; but  syth  thy  coming,  the  words 
of  Jesus  have  become  so  much  more  precious,  that  in  m3’' 
secret  prayers  I find  my  heart  goeth  up  to  him  more  thar. 
to  the  holy  saints.” 

“ That  pleaseth  our  Lord,  I trow,  and  comforteth  thee  in 
thy  last  passage.” 

The  last  nour  is  nearer  than  any  imagined,  for  in  a very 
few  days  Maude  summoned  the  family  to  the  couch,  for  the 
soul  of  the  Lady  of  Hawksworth  is  passing  away.  She  has 
bidden  farewell  to  all  of  earth,  and  ere  the  prayer  of  com- 
mendation is  oflfered  up  by  the  priest,  she  has  entered  into 
rest 


312 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


A solemn  funeral  follows ; and,  laid  in  the  same  chapel 
by  her  lord,  we  leave  the  castle  to  return  to  Ravenscliff. 

Maude  is  rapidly  regaining  her  strength  in  the  invigo- 
rating climate  of  her  own  land ; and  it  is  well  that  it  is  so, 
for  she  has  much  holy  work  by  the  side  of  the  dying  yet. 
for  Wilfred  d’Arcy  is  rapidly  failing,  never  having  rallied 
since  the  sickness  in  Palestine. 

“ Thou  wilt  see  me  daily,  Lady  Maude,”  said  the  young 
esquire ; “ for  it  seemeth  that  I am  almost  in  sight  of  the 
gates  of  the  holy  city.  I trust  that,  by  the  goodness  and 
mercy  of  God,  and  by  the  intercession  of  the  blessed  saints, 
the  way  to  Paradise  be  open  ; for  Father  Ambrose  hath  ad- 
ministered the  last  rites,  and  I am  only  waiting.  But  the 
priest  leaveth  disquieting  thoughts,  Lady  Maude,  and  talk- 
eth  to  me  of  mortal  sins  and  venial  sins.  How  wot  I which 
before  the  throne  of  God  is  venial  and  which  is  mortal? 
How  wot  I whether  the  penance  laid  upon  my  sinful  soul  is 
enow  to  obtain  absolution  ! ” 

“Think  thou  of  Gethsemane  and  the  bloody  sweat  of  Cal- 
vary and  the  dying  agony.  Look  thou  to  Jesus,  good  Wil- 
fred. Thou  canst  do  naught  to  buy  salvation.  Prayers, 
()enances,  saints,  sacraments,  naught  must  come  in  the  place 
of  Christ  himser.  He  hath  done  all  the  work  ; we  stretch 
out  the  hand  of  faith  and  take  the  blessing.” 

Wilfred  has  had  a weary,  restless  night,  and  the  Lady 
Jaqueline  has  ordered  the  sufferer  to  be  removed  from  his 
own  gloomy  sleeping-room  to  one  adjoining  the  ‘ broidery- 
room, — comfortable,  airy,  and  having  an  eastern  exposure 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


313 


Cicely  bringing  her  own  couch  into  the  room,  that  she  may 
wa^ch  his  declining  hours. 

iV’e  find  the  Lady  Maude  at  an  early  hour  by  the  side  of 
^he  sufferer,  who,  propped  up  by  ])illows,  receives  her  with  a 
wan,  but  grateful  smile.  Turning  his  languid  eyes  towards 
the  east,  he  said  : 

“This  is,  in  sooth,  a blessed  change  from  the  dark  closet. 
Lady  Maude ; for  here  I see  the  first  rosy  beams  of  the  sun, 
and  it  mindeth  me  of  the  city  whose  sun  never  setteth.” 

“ The  Lady  Jaqueline,  my  good  mother,  hath  ordered  the 
change,  with  commands  to  see  that  thou  hast  all  that  sick- 
ness needeth.” 

“ Naught  have  I to  remember  in  the  castle  of  Ravenscliff 
but  gentle  deeds ; ’’  and,  fixing  his  eyes  tenderly  upon  the 
face  of  the  young  damsel,  he  continued  in  low  tones  of  deep 
feeling,  “ and  thou,  Lady  Maude,  hast  been  a joy  and  light 
in  my  path  ever  syth,  as  a lonely  orphan,  I came  to  thy 
hearthstone.  Thou  hast  cheered  many  a weary  hour ; and 
here  I may  tell  thee,  fair  lady,  that  I have  ever  loved  thee 
silently,  deeply,  hopelessly.  Thou  art  in  my  thoughts  by 
day  and  my  dreams  by  niglit,  and  here  I bless  thee.  Thou 
wilt  be  a holy  saint  at  Hawksworth,  as  thou  art  here,  I troM 
and  Sir  Guy  hath  naught  but  joy  in  thy  gentle  rule  in  his 
castle;  but  I be  far  away,  waiting  for  thee  at  the  gates  of 
the  holy  city,  where  there  is  neither  marrying  nor  giving  in 
marriage.** 

Maude  sat  in  silence  with  her  face  buried  in  her  handa 
large  tears  trickling  through  her  fingers. 

“Weep  not.  Lady  Maude.  The  sorrow  hath  all  passed 
27 


314  MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 

with  me,  and  I leave  thee  with  no  bad  blood  to  Sir  Guy  d€ 
Mowbray  — naught  but  blessing  in  my  heart  for  thee.  I 
only  ask  to  be  remembered.*'  Taking  a ring  from  his 
finger,  he  placed  it  upon  Maude's,  continuing : Wilt  wear 

this,  lady,  for  the  sake  of  Wilfred  when  he  sleepeth  under 
the  green  sod  ? And  could  I ask  one  boon  in  Paradise,  it  will 
be  to  attend  upon  thy  steps  as  thy  guardian  angel  through- 
out all  the  days  of  thy  pilgrimage,  and  when  thou  diest,  to 
be  the  first  to  bear  thee  home  to  the  city  where  there  is 
naught  but  peace  and  joy  and  love  divine,  — neither  sin  nor 
sorrow,  nor  parting  nor  crying  any  more.  Lady  Maude." 

“ Blessed  art  thou,  Wilfred  d'Arcy,  an’  thou  hast  a sure 
liope  of  a home  with  Jesus,"  said  the  trembling  voice  beside 
the  couch.  “ Thou  mayst  be  sure  that  I forget  thee  never, 
’\Vilfred ; for  my  childish  sports,  the  joys  of  my  youth,  the 
sorrows  of  pilgrimage,  are  all  linked  with  thy  name,  good 
friend;  and  I trow  that  it  will  be  holy  joy  when  we  reach 
the  shining  shore  of  the  blessed  city,  and  sit  upon  the  banks 
of  the  river  that  floweth  through  the  golden  streets,  to  talk 
together  of  the  way  that  the  Lord  hath  brought  us.  It  hath 
plc^ased  him  that  we  walk  not  together  on  our  pilgrim  path  ; 
but  an'  we  reach  the  same  blessed  home,  we  sorrow  not,  I 
trow,  that  for  a short  season  we  part;  thou  to  enter  into 
rest  before  me,  and  I to  do  the  Lord's  work  in  my  earthly 
home." 

Wottest  thou,  fair  lady,  what  we  shall  most  remember 
in  that  far-off  city  ? " 

‘‘  It  seemeth,  Wilfred,  the  days  spent  in  the  turret,  when 
thou  first  didst  learn  in  sooth,  to  love  our  Lord  and  his  truth." 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


816 


“ Yea,  truly,  Lady  Maude,  for  it  was  there  that  I learned 
the  lioly  Gospel,  and  thou  wert  my  blessed  teacher,  fair 
saint.  Seest  thou,  fair  lady,  this  faded  glove?’’  (at  the 
same  time  taking  one  from  his  doublet.)  “Thou  didst  drop 
it  once  when  thou  wert  passing  through  the  wards  of  the 
Hospitallers,  and  I have  treasured  it  with  the  remains  of  a 
withered  flower  gathered  in  the  same  way!  But  sing  to  me, 
lady,  one  of  thine  own  sweet  hymns  just  once  more ; ” and 
tenderly  the  maiden  sang  of  the  life  that  is  and  that  which 
is  to  be. 

‘ Brief  life  is  here  our  portion ; 

Brief  sorrow,  short-lived  care; 

The  life  that  knows  no  ending, 

The  tearless  life,  is  there. 

“0  happy  retribution  I 
Short  toil,  eternal  rest ; 

For  mortals  and  for  sinners 
A mansion  with  the  blest  1 

“And  now  we  fight  the  battle, 

But  then  shall  wear  the  crowB 
Of  full  and  everlasting 
And  passionless  renown. 

“And  now  we  watch  and  struggle. 

And  now  we  live  in  hope. 

And  Sion,  in  her  anguish. 

With  Babylon  must  cope. 

“But  He  whom  we  now  trust  in 
Shall  then  be  seen  and  known; 

And  they  that  know  and  see  Him 
Shall  know  Him  for  their  own  t • 


316 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


‘‘One  more  boon  have  I,  ladj;  once  more  to  visit  th« 
chapel,  and  receive  the  holy  Eucharist  from  the  hands  of 
Father  Ambrose.’’ 

“ Thou  shalt  have  thy  wish,  Wilfred.” 

At  the  hour  of  even-song,  Wilfred  was  carried  to  the 
(;hapel,  and  laid  upon  a couch  before  the  altar,  and  with  the 
members  of  the  household  around  him,  old  Cicely  not 
forgotten,  partook,  for  the  last  time,  of  the  memorials  of 
the  Lord’s  passion  on  Calvary. 

The  music  was  low  and  sweet ; the  glowing  rays  of  the 
setting  sun  flooded  the  picture  of  the  Virgin  over  the  altar ; 
and,  after  the  service,  Wilfred  tarried  a few  moments  to 
take  his  last  look  at  familiar  objects. 

“Seest  thou  the  face  of  the  Holy  Virgin,  lady?”  said  the 
sufferer.  “ Truly  the  blessed  face  seemeth  to  look  upon  us 
with  favor.” 

“It  is  naught  but  a picture,  Wilfred,  of  one  that  was 
highly  honored  as  the  mother  of  our  Lord,  but  in  no  wise 
to  be  worshipped  or  adored.  I trow  that  the  Holy  Mother 
w>uld  not  herself  be  over-well  pleased  an,  she  wist  how 
men  do  worship  unto  her  that  belongeth  unto  her  Son ; and 
the  like,  I trow,  may  be  said  of  all  God’s  saints.” 

Stopping  at  the  chapel-door  on  his  way  out,  he  turned 
one  sorrowful  look  backward,  saying : 

“ Never  again  — never  again.” 

From  this  day  Wilfred  faded  rapidly,  and  Maude  is  daily 
by  his  couch. 

It  is  Easter  morning,  — the  queen  of  days,  — bright,  glo- 
rious in  its  earthly  sunshine  on  this  holy  day  — brighter 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


317 


and  more  glorious  in  its  grand,  stipendous  hopes  for  the 
children  of  the  resurrection.  The  shadows  of  the  death- 
angel’s  wing  are  slowly  creeping  over  the  face  of  the  suf- 
ferer, and,  taking  the  clammy  hand  within  her  own,  Maude 
said  in  low,  sweet  tones ; 

“Thou  art  in  the  troubled  waters  of  Jordan,  Wilfred; 
but  the  Lord  is  there,  too.  Hear  his  blessed  words : ‘ It  is 
I : be  not  afraid.’  ” 

He  turned  his  dying  eyes  upon  the  speaker,  as  he  replied  . 

“ I know  it.  Lady  Maude,  But  read  to  me  about  the  re- 
surrection ; for  this  is  the  resurrection  day,  and  it  is  blessed 
to  go  home  on  Easter  morning.” 

“Listen  to  our  dear  Lord’s  words,  good  Wilfred. 

“‘Verily,  verily,  I say  unto  you.  The  hour  is  coming,  and 
now  is,  when  the  dead  shall  hear  the  voice  of  the  Son  of 
•Grod:  and  they  that  hear  shall  live. 

“ ‘ Marvel  not  at  this : for  the  hour  is  coming,  in  the 
which  all  that  are  in  the  graves  shall  hear  his  voice, 

“ ‘ And  shall  come  forth  ; they  that  have  done  good,  unto 
the  resurrection  of  life ; and  they  that  have  done  evil,  unto 
the  resurrection  of  damnation.’ 

“And,  furthermore,  good  Wilfred,  hear  his  words  to 
Martha. 

“‘Jesus  said  unto  her,  I am  the  resurrection  and  the 
life:  he  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall 
he  live : 

“‘And  whosoever  liveth  and  believeth  in  me  shall  never 
die.  Believest  thou  this  ? 

“ ‘ She  saith  unto  him,  Yea,  Lord  : I believe  that  thou  art 
27* 


318 


MAUDE  AND  M^IRIAM. 


the  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  which  should  come  into  iht 
world/ 

''Canst  thou  echo  Martha's  words,  good  Wilfred?” 

A look  of  rapture  passed  over  the  face  of  the  dying,  as  he 
replied : 

“ Lord,  thou  knowest  all  things.  Thou  knowest  that  I 
believe  in  thee,  and  that  I love  thee.” 

Calling  Father  Ambrose  to  the  side  of  the  couch,  they 
watched  by  the  departing  spirit  throughout  the  sunny  hours 
of  that  holy  day.  Finding  the  spirit  about  to  pass,  the 
priest  read  the  prayer  of  commendation,  and,  amid  the  joy^ 
bells  of  Easter  morning,  when  the  earth  was  clothed  with 
flowers,  Wilfred  d’Arcy  went  home  tu  his  everlasting  rest. 
Who  knows  what  echoes  of  sweet  bells  were  heard  from  the 
heavenly  turrets,  as  he  passed  the  bounds  of  time  and  sense 
and  was  with  the  angels? 

At  the  appointed  time,  the  chapel-bell  called  the  dwellers 
in  the  castle  to  the  Mass  for  the  dead ; and  interred  within 
the  chapel,  we  leave  the  lonely  orphan  of  KavenscliflT,  and 
return  to  the  invalids  from  Palestine.  The  Lady  Jaqueline 
is  rallying  daily ; but  the  gallant  knight  Sir  Amelot  de 
Pussy  has  accomplished  his  work  upon  earth,  and  his  frame, 
wholly  worn  out  by  excessive  action,  is  about  to  pay  the 
debt  of  mortality. 

Anxious  to  die  like  a brave  knight,  he  was  arrayed  in 
his  richest  uniform,  with  his  sword  girded  to  his  side.  With 
a spear  in  his  hand,  he  summoned  the  two  priests,  the  Baron 
of  Ravensclifi’  and  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray  to  attend  upon 
him.  Held  up  by  the  two  knights,  he  exhorted  them  to  go 


MAUDE  AND  MTRTAM. 


319 


on  unwearied  in  the  patli  of  glory ; and  then  committing 
himself  to  the  priests,  the  offices  of  the  Church  were  admin- 
istered, and  with  an  eye  fixed  upon  the  crucifix,  he  passed 
sway.  Buried  with  great  pomp  at  the  abbey  of  St.  Hilary, 
I he  Baron  of  Ravenscliff  riding  his  richly  caparisoned 
charger,  and  bearing  his  helmet,  spear,  and  banner,  Sir 
Amelot  de  Russy  took  his  place  among  the  brave  knights, 
who,  beneath  the  cloisters  of  the  chapel,  lay  with  crossed 
legs  and  chain  armor,  bearing  the  triangular  shield,  and  the 
hand  sheathing  the  sword,  as  a token  of  rest  from  their  war- 
fare. 

The  excitement  of  these  few  weeks  having  passed  away, 
the  females  return  to  the  daily  routine  of  life  in  a feudal 
castle ; for  the  Lady  Jaqueline  has  summoned  her  ladies 
once  more,  and  in  the  ’broidery-room  Maude  recounts  the 
days  spent  in  Palestine.  But  instead  of  the  frivolous  talk 
of  former  days,  Maude  reads  daily  from  the  Gospel,  and 
teaches  her  sweet  Latin  hymns  to  the  young  maidens;  one 
hour  being  thus  daily  spent  in  this  holy  employment. 


CHAPTER  XAV 


ONE  OF  A ROYAL  PRIESTHOOD. 

rriHUS  far  the  intrigues  of  Prince  John  had  seemed  to 
prosper,  and  the  friends  of  the  king  were  beginning  to 
grow  impatient  for  his  return.  With  much  difficulty,  the 
ransom  of  silver  had  been  agreed  upon,  and  with  mon 
difficulty  paid.  The  conspirators  against  the  throne  are 
beginning  to  tremble,  for  well  they  knew  the  vindictive 
character  of  Richard  towards  his  enemies.  Closeted  one 
day  with  some  of  his  colleagues,  the  prince  was  suddenly 
alarmed  by  the  entrance  of  an  attendant,  who  placed  a 
small  billet  in  his  hand. 

“ Who  brought  it  ? ” inquired  the  prince. 

A Frenchman,  my  lord,  who  said  that  he  had  ridden 
night  and  day  to  put  it  into  the  hands  of  your  highness.’’ 
The  prince  examined  it  carefully,  looking  first  at  the 
superscription,  then  at  the  seal,  bearing  the  impression  of 
fleurs-de-lis.  The  billet  was  opened  with  great  agita- 
tion, which  increased  as  he  read  the  startling  words : 

“Take  heed  to  yourself,  for  the  devil  is  unchained!” 

A face  blanched  to  a marble  hue  betrayed  his  terror, 
looking  around  like  unto  a person  under  sentence  of  death. 
The  news  fell  like  a bomb-shell  among  the  Oviispirators. 

S20 


M A U D 5!  AND  MIRIAM. 


321 


It  may  perchance  be  a forged  letter,’’  said  one. 

‘‘  It  is  Francis’  own  hand  and  seal,”  replied  the  prince. 

**  It  is  time  then  to  be  at  work,”  said  another : “ what  is 
to  be  done,  must  be  done  quickly.” 

All  England  is  suddenly  aroused  by  the  news  of  King 
Richard’s  release;  hastening  forward,  suddenly  he  appeared 
in  the  presence  of  his  treacherous  brother  John,  who,  con- 
science stricken,  and  trembling  with  fear,  fell  upon  his 
knees,  acknowledged  his  sin,  and  implored  pardon. 

The  conspiracy  was  at  an  end  : the  king  was  soon  seated 
firmly  on  his  throne  again;  and  from  all  parts  of  the  realm, 
the  barons  hastened  to  London  to  welcome  the  returning 
king  with  fresh  vows  of  allegiance  — the  Baron  of  Raveniv- 
cliff  one  of  the  first. 

“Thou  art  welcome,  De  Vere.’*  said  the  king.  “ What 
with  our  defeat  in  Palestine,  and  the  troubles  in  our  realm, 
there  be  much  work  before  us,  for  our  faithless  brother 
hath  wrought  much  evil  throughout  England.” 

“ He  can  do  naught  when  King  Richard  is  at  home,” 
was  the  speedy  reply;  “for  the  barons  are  ready  to  rally 
around  the  banner  of  the  Lion  of  England.” 

But  to  return  awhile  to  the  castle. 

Now  that  the  king  is  at  home  again,  every  heart  is  look 
ing  anxiously  for  Lancelot,  for  there  seems  to  be  no  reason 
now  for  delay. 

It  is  not  many  weeks,  and  accompanied  by  his  bride,  he 
appeared  in  their  midst. 

A heart- warm  Avelcorne  awaits  the  stranger,  for  her  ami- 
able qualities  as  a Jewess  had  triumphed  over  prejudice. 

V 


322 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


And  now  that  Miriam  was  a Christian,  there  was  evei 
of  the  most  honored  seats  at  the  fireside  for  Lancelots 
companion. 

Clasped  in  the  arms  of  Lady  Maude,  who  was  the  first 
to  greet  her,  she  was  presented  to  Eveline,  who  was  charm e 1 
with  her  brother’s  wife  ; and  to  Father  Ambrose,  wh(»; 
uttering  a Latin  prayer,  laid  his  hand  upon  the  head  ol 
the  young  Jewess.  But  good  old  Cicely  is  not  so  ready  to 
extend  the  welcome,  for  she  has  ever  looked  upon  the  Jews 
as  dogs  and  miscreants,  and  can  scarcely  be  persuaded  that 
any  good  thing  can  come  of  a race  so  despised. 

But  time  works  wonders ; and  it  will  be  seen  in  the  case 
of  old  Cicely,  when  receiving  nothing  but  acts  of  kindness 
from  the  converted  Jewess. 

There  is  much  to  interest  the  young  lady,  for  life  in 
England  is  so  different  from  what  she  has  been  accustomed 
to.  But  we  find  her  with  Maude  in  her  turret,  deep  in  one 
of  those  confidences  so  common  among  the  young. 

Laying  a manuscript  in  her  hand,  Maude  said,  smilingly : 
Thou  rememberest  my  promise,  Miriam,  when  Lancelot 
gave  to  thee  the  Gospel ; and  I have  redeemed  it,  for  here  be 
another  copy  of  St.  John.” 

‘‘  Thou  wilt  be  doubly  pleased,  Maude,  that  thou  keepes^ 
thy  word,  when  thou  hearest  of  the  other.  Aunt  Esther 
was  deeply  grieved  when  she  found  that  I was  coming  to 
England,  and  pained  at  the  thought  that  I had  forsaken 
my  father’s  faith ; but  I comforted  her  at  length  with  the 
truth,  telling  her  that  I still  believed  Moses  and  Al)raham, 
and  that  the  holy  prophets  were  my  oracles  still,  only  J 


MAFDE  ANP  MIBTAM.  t^28 

believed  more  than  she,  for  I had  found  that  Jesus  0/ 
Nazareth  was  the  true  Messiah  of  whom  Moses  wrote.  I 
left  my  Gospel  with  her:  was  not  that  right,  Maude?” 

Now,  heaven  be  lauded,  Miriam,  that  I know  there  be 
one  copy  of  our  Lord's  Gospel  in  Palestine.”  . 

“ My  father  left  great  wealth,  Maude,  and  so  I gave  the 
villa  to  Aunt  Esther,  with  means  to  keep  it  open ; and  she 
will  gather  a society  of  holy  women  of  her  own  faith,  who 
devote  their  lives  to  the  suffering  and  afflicted : who  knoweth 
what  the  gospel  may  be  there?  For  our  own  scriptures 
saith : 

‘‘  ‘ So  shall  my  word  be  that  goeth  forth  out  of  my  mouth : 
it  shall  not  return  unto  me  void,  but  it  shall  accomplish 
that  which  I please,  and  it  shall  prosper  in  the  thing  where- 
to I sent  it ; ' and  the  Gospel,  Maude,  be  His  word,  I trow.” 

Everything  was  so  different  from  Palestine  to  the  young 
Jewess  in  this  old  castle.  The  winter  snows,  the  keen  blasts 
whistling  through  the  loose  casements,  the  Christmas  sports, 
the  services  at  the  chapel ; but  sometimes,  when  shivering 
around  the  huge  fire-place,  watching  the  flames  as  they 
roared  up  the  great  chimney,  she  remembered  the  balmy 
air  of  her  own  land  more  than  the  burning  sun.  thus 
turncth  the  heart  in  all  parts  of  the  world  towards  home. 

But  the  services  in  the  chapel  pleased  the  Jewess;  for 
familiarity  with  the  old  rituals,  though  its  glory  had  faded 
from  among  the  Jews,  prepared  her  for  the  showy  ceremonial 
of  the  Catholic  Church  in  those  days,  for  the  Jews  could 
certainly  trace  a likeness  between  the  two. 

Winter  has  passed,  and  Miriam  is  glad  to  exchange  the 


324 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


discomfort  of  the  old  castle  for  the  charming  freshness  of 
the  English  spring-time. 

“ We  have  nothing  like  this  in  Palestine,”  said  Miriam, 
as  they  sat  in  the  pleasance;  “so  cool,  so  refreshing,  so 
beautifully  green ! ” 

With  arms  interlaced,  they  trod  the  walk  beneath  the 
spreading  branches  of  the  trees. 

“I  shall  miss  thee,  Maude,”  said  the  young  lady;  “for 
after  Whitsuntide  thou  leavest  for  thy  new  home,  and 
there  are  none  to  take  thy  place,  Maude.” 

“Thou  wilt  love  and  cherish  my  good  mother,  when  I am 
gone,  Miriam  ; and  promise  me  that  thou  takest  my  place 
in  the  ’broiderie-room.  The  Lady  Jaqueline  readeth  not  in 
our  tongue,  nor  any  of  the  ladies  of- the  castle;  but  thou 
readest  so  well,  Miriam,  and  it  would  so  rejoice  my  heart 
to  wot,  fair  sister,  that  thou  readest  the  Gospel  at  Ravens- 
clitf  at  the  self-same  hour  that  I read  at  Hawksworth.” 

“ I promise  thee,  Maude,  ard  the  Lady  Jaqueline  con- 
sen  teth.” 

Maude  smiled,  as  she  replied  : 

“ ]My  mother  the  Lady  Jaqueline  consenteth,  I trow 
not  oiil}>  for  my  sake,  Miriam,  but  for  the  GospeFs,  for  she 
misseth  the  readings  an’  I be  unable  ; and  thou  knowest, 
Miriam,  that  there  be  many  around  us  who  hear  not  the 
Gospel  of  our  Lord,  and  it  will  be  blessed  work  to  gathei 
such  when  I get  iiome  to  Hawksworth.  Father  Matthias 
goeth  v/ith  me,  of  which  I am  right  glad,  for  he  mindeth 
me  of  Saint  Bernard  of  holy  memory.” 

“ One  of  the  old  saints  that  most  I honor,  Maude ; tb« 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


32ft 


rmlj  one  who  extended  his  protection  towards  our  defence* 
lees  people.” 

“ He  had  the  spirit  of  our  Master,  Miriam ; let  us  try, 
fair  sister,  to  follow  such  examples.  But  to  return  to 
Father  Matthias  ; he  approveth  of  my  w^ork  at  Hawksworth. 
Every  Friday  the  children  come  to  hear  the  Gospel,  to  learn 
it,  and  to  sing  sacred  hymns ; and  on  Wednesday  any  one 
that  chooseth.” 

‘‘That  pleaseth  me  truly,  Maude.  But  what  sayeth 
Father  Ambrose  ? ” 

“ The  good  priest  doeth  much  to  please  me,  Miriam  ; a 
good,  easy  soul ! And  he  groweth  old  and  feeble-minded,  I 
trow.  Our  work  be  not  preaching,  Miriam,  only  reading 
the  Word,  and  singing  our  own  old  hymns.” 

Whence  cometh  the  spirit  of  active  piety  that  was  stirring 
in  the  depths  of  Maude  de  Vere’s  heart?  Was  she  in  spirit 
with  the  primitive  Christians  centuries  back?  or  was  she 
centuries  ahead  of  her  own  days  ? So  deeply  had  she  drunk 
of  the  pure  fountains  of  truth,  that,  leaping  over  the  dark 
gulf  of  the  past,  she  had  the  same  spirit  that  actuated  the 
early  Church  of  Jerusalem,  though  she  knew  it  not  in 
name ; — “ continuing  daily  in  the  apostles’  fellowship  and 
doctrine ; ” ready,  if  needs  be,  to  sell  all  that  she  had  for  the 
love  of  her  Master. 

We  listen  to  the  two  in  this  quiet  home,  planning  work 
for  the  Lord ; we  read  of  human  assumptions  of  priestly 
power  in  those  feudal  days,  and  of  the  same  spirit  that 
eialteth  itself  in  these  of  the  nineteenth  century;  and,  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  our  Gospel,  we  read  Peter’s  address 
$9 


326 


MAUDE  AED  MIRIAM. 


**  to  the  elect,  scattered  throughout  Pontus,  GalatiA,  Gapp» 
docia,  Asia,  and  Bithjnia : 

Ye  also,  as  lively  stones,  are  built  up  a spiritual  house, 
a royal  priesthood^  to  offer  up  spiritual  sacrifices,  acceptable 
to  God  by  Jesus  Christ. 

But  ye  are  a chosen  generation,  a royal  priesthood.^* 

And  the  beloved  Apostle  John,  too,  bears  the  same 
glorious  testimony  in  his  ascriptions  of  praise  to  our  dear 
Lord: 

“ Unto  him  who  hath  loved  us,  and  washed  us  from  our 
sins  in  his  own  blood. 

And  hast  made  us  kings  oxii.  priests  unto  God  and  the 
Father.^' 

And  farther  on  we  read  of  the  glory  in  store  for  such  a 
spiritual  priesthood : 

And  hast  made  us  unto  our  God  kings  and  priests^  and 
we  shall  reign  on  the  earth. 

“ Blessed  and  holy  is  he  that  hath  part  in  the  first  resur- 
rection ; on  such  the  second  death  hath  no  power ; but  they 
shall  be  priests  and  kings  of  God  and  of  Christ,  and  shall 
reign  with  him  a thousand  years.” 

Such  glory  have  the  saints  of  all  ages,  and  to  such  a 
royal  priesthood  belongeth  Maude  de  Vere  and  Miriam 
the  Jewess.  Two  of  a royal  household,  showing  forth  the 
praises  of  the  Lord. 

Whitsuntide  is  hastening  on,  and  Sir  Guy  de  Mowbray  is 
often  in  the  pleasance,  listening  to  Maude’s  plans  of  benev- 
olence for  Hawksworth. 

It  is  Maude’s  last  visit  to  her  turret,  for  she  is  soon  to  be 


MAUDE  AND  MIPIAM. 


327 


the  Lady  of  Hawksworth.  On  bended  knees,  she  pours  out 
holy  thanks  for  all  that  she  has  learned  in  this  secluded 
room,  and  reviews,  with  pious  gratitude,  the  history  of  the 
manuscript  found  in  the  sacristy  of  Father  Ambrose  — the 
mustard  seed  is  spreading  its  branches  now,  sheltering 
many  beneath  its  shade. 

Lancelot  hath  not  read  in  vain,  and  Miriam  the  Jewess 
hath  embraced  its  doctrines  ; Sir  Guy  is  one  in  spirit  with 
Maude;  Father  Matthias  is  spiritualized  by  its  heavenly 
teaching ; the  precious  Gospel  is  in  the  Holy  Land,  in  the 
hands  of  Esther  the  Jewess;  the  Lady  Jaqueline  listens 
with  increasing  interest  to  its  message ; the  Lady  Eveline  ie 
coming  with  her  questions  to  Maude ; the  good  baron  steals 
in  sometimes  to  the  novel  sight  in  the  ’broidery-room,  often 
taking  his  seat  near  the  youthful  reader,  and  carrying  away 
wholesome  food  for  thought.  Wilfred  d’Arcy  departed, 
sustained  by  its  blessed  hopes ; and  the  Lady  Edith,  too, 
had  reposed  her  departing  spirit  not  upon  the  Church,  but 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  Lord. 

Maude  de  Vere  was  truly  one  in  faith  with  the  ancient 
Vaudois,  and,  living  centuries  later,  would  have  probably 
attested  her  faith  with  the  scarlet  seal  of  martyrdom ; but 
the  Church  of  Rome  had  not  yet  laid  her  hand  of  power 
upon  the  word  of  God  ; though  not  freely  circulated  among 
the  masses,  who  could  not  read,  it  had  not  yet  been  placed 
under  the  ban  of  the  law.  Ignorance  withheld  the  light 
whose  glory  it  could  not  see ; intolerance,  in  future  ages, 
imprisoned  it,  when  it  shed  its  benign  rays  upon  human 
intalleots 


328 


MAaDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


Ravenscliff  is  quite  astir  now,  for  the  wedding-day 
draweth  on. 

Gertrude  Ellerton,  under  charge  of  Raoul,  was  despatched 
to  London  to  purchase  the  wedding  gear  — scarlet  cloth, 
rich  satins,  cloth  of  silver,  and  costly  jewels. 

All  was  cutting  out  and  fitting  on,  with  sundry  discus- 
sions about  trimmings,  and  head-dresses,  and  gloves,  and 
wimples. 

The  baron  had  ordered  two  splendid  saddle-cloths  of 
green  velvet,  heavily  embroidered,  and  a handsome  outfit 
for  the  two  brides,  for  there  was  to  be  a double  wedding  at 
RavenscliflT. 

At  length  the  preparations  were  completed,  and  on  a 
splendid  summer  morning,  when  the  birds  sang  their  most 
joyous  melodies,  and  the  sky  was  cloudless,  Maude  and 
Eveline  de  Vere  were  married  in  the  chapel,  by  Father 
Ambrose,  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Catholic  Church. 

The  brides  were  attired,  one  in  blue  cloth  of  silver  with 
satin  kirtle  of  the  same  color,  the  other  in  pink ; for  white 
would  then  have  been  wholly  out  of  place,  that  being  the 
dress  of  deepest  mourning ; their  beautiful  hair  inclosed  in 
nets  of  silver  thread  ornamented  with  seed-pearls,  and  their 
jewels  the  finest  diamonds. 

The  bridegrooms,  in  crimson  velvet  trimmed  with  gold 
lace,  and  waving  plumes  in  their  caps,  and  the  guests  in 
rich  attire,  made  a grand  display  in  the  chapel. 

With  deeply  serious  feeling,  the  young  brides  assumed 
their  solemn  vows ; the  one  to  dwell  at  Hawkswortb,  the 
other  at  London,  to  mingle  with  the  gay  circles  at  court. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


329 


A banquet,  to  which  large  numbers  were  invited,  cele- 
brated the  joyful  event  at  Ravenscliff,  and  Miriam  the 
Jewess  bore  the  peacock,  dressed  in  the  most  costly  style, 
to  his  place  of  honor  at  the  table  ; all  awarding  to  the  fair 
Jewess  the  palm  of  beauty,  her  fine  complexion  glowing 
in  the  rich  Eastern  costume  chosen  by  Sir  Lancelot  for 
that  occasion. 

And  in  the  moonlight,  on  the  evening  of  this  wedding- 
day,  was  seen  coming  over  the  ballium  a company  of 
quaint  little  figures  to  do  honor  to  the  youthful  brides,  who, 
in  their  rich  attire,  descending  to  meet  the  children,  kindly 
greeted  the  delighted  group,  and  each  in  her  turn  kissed 
the  hands  extended  to  them.  Each,  with  a basket  of  flowers 
in  her  hand,  stood  smiling  in  innocent  wonder  at  the  lovely 
brides,  and  then,  in  sweet  silvery  voices,  piped  their  humble 
song  of  childish  gratulation.  At  the  close,  the  little  ones 
were  rewarded  by  an  invitation  to  the  castle,  where  they 
were  abundantly  regaled  at  the  wedding-table,  each  carry- 
ing away  her  portion  of  good  cheer  for  the  good  folks  at 
home.  Presenting  their  graceful  offerings  of  flowers  to  the 
brides,  and  singing  another  song,  they  took  their  departure. 
One  of  the  most  humble  of  all  the  tributes  paid  to  the 
ladies,  it  will  be  most  gratefully  remembered  as  a heartfelt 
oflTering  from  the  poor;  and,  doubtless,  these  little  ones  will 
tell  in  future  years  how  they  were  entertained  by  the  lovely 
brides  at  the  grand  wedding  at  RavenscliflT  on  this  lovely 
moonlight  night  in  June. 

But  Maude  is  leaving  Ravenscliff;  the  cavalcade  is  at 
the  entrance.  It  need  not  be  told  how  Father  Ambrose 
28» 


330 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


mourned  for  his  favorite ; nor  1k)w  the  large  tears  fell  upon 
his  withered  face,  as  he  laid  his  hand  in  blessing  upon  the 
kneeling  figure ; how  old  Cicely  stood  weeping  so  long  as 
the  cavalcade  remained  in  sight ; nor  what  a void  was  left 
in  the  household  when  Maude  bade  farewell.  It  is  true 
that  banners  floated  on  the  keep  in  honor  of  the  day,  and 
joy-bells  rang  out  their  merry  chimes ; but  tears  mingled  with 
the  smiles  of  gratulation,  as  Maude,  by  the  side  of  Sir  Guy 
de  Mowbray,  attended  by  a gay  retinue,  passed  out  of  the 
ballium,  over  the  drawbridge,  waving  her  farewell  to  the 
old  warder  in  the  tower,  to  the  people  on  the  walls,  and  the 
peasantry  by  the  road-side,  who  revered  and  loved  the 
young  lady  of  the  castle. 

Father  Jerome  has  left  Hawksworth  for  a monastery, 
his  place  to  be  filled  by  Father  Matthias ; the  Lady  Alice 
and  Blanche  de  Lacey  are  with  the  company  who  are 
escorting  Maude  to  her  new  home.  She  is  in  the  bright 
sunlight  now,  growing  daily  in  grace  and  in  the  knowledge 
of  her  Lord  and  Saviour. 

On  the  next  day  after  her  arrival,  Guy  is  leading  her 
through  the  castle,  and  finally  up  a long  flight  of  stairs  to 
a little  door,  which,  smiling,  he  unlocked. 

“ Thou  must  not  miss  thy  turret,  Maude,”  said  Sir  Guy, 
as  he  introduced  her  into  a small  room,  not  quite  so  high  as 
her  sanctum  at  Ravenscliff,  but  with  a casement  opening 
upon  a lovely  vista  of  landscape.  A small  carpet  lay  upon 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  a table  and  crucifix,  with  a vase  of 
flowers,  stood  near  the  window,  with  the  most  comfortabltj 
chair  that  could  be  found,  though  high-backed  and  straight 


KAUDE  AND  MIKIAM. 


SSI 


ft  picture  of  the  Last  Supper  hung  upon  the  wall ; two 
metallic  fire-dogs  graced  the  chimney-place,  and  a small 
candelabra,  with  four  wax  candles,  hung  from  the  ceiling. 

“Thou  art  very  good,  Guy,^’said  the  lady;  “thou  couldst 
not  have  pleased  me  better.” 

“ I bought  the  carpet  for  thee,  sweet  one,  in  Palestine : 
thou  seest  that  it  is  Turkish.  And  the  picture  of  the  Last 
Supper  I bought  at  Jerusalem.” 

“ The  carpet  will  be  such  a comfort,  Guy,  in  winter ; the 
vase  shall  be  daily  filled  with  flowers.  I can  never  tire  of 
looking  at  the  picture,  and  the  crucifix  mindeth  me  ever  of 
the  sufferings  of  our  blessed  Lord ; albeit  I use  it  not  in 
adoration.  This  will  be  another  turret  of  sweet  retirement, 
Guy,  when  I gather  strength  for  the  duties  at  Hawksworth. 
But  I must  know  the  servants,  Guy.  Wilt  bring  them  to 
the  *broiderie-room  ? ” 

And  here  the  youthful  lady  met  her  serving-people,  and 
chose  for  her  own  bower-woman  a young  girl  by  the  name 
of  Ellspeth,  who  entertained  her  companions  in  the  servants* 
hall  with  accounts  of  their  new  lady. 

Fairly  domesticated,  we  find  the  Lady  Maude  assembling 
lier  ladies  daily  in  the  ’broiderie-room,  where  the  first  hour 
was  devoted  to  the  reading  of  the  Gospel  and  the  singing 
of  sweet  hymns  in  the  Latin  tongue,  while  Sir  Guy  is 
directing  the  employment  of  the  young  pages  and  esquires 
that  belong  to  the  castle.  The  reading  ended,  Maude  joins 
the  embroiderers,  — for  she  is  working  an  historical  piece 
for  the  Lady  Jaqueline,  to  be  presented  at  the  time  of  the 
Christmas  joy;  the  young  ladies  always  glad  to  see  her 


832 


MAUDE  AND  MIUIAM. 


take  up  her  frame,  for  that  is  the  time  when  she  entertainii 
them  with  stories  of  the  Holy  Land. 

On  Wednesday  and  Friday,  she  invites  any  who  desire  it 
to  meet  her  in  an  apartment  set  apart  for  the  purpose,  with 
one  long  table,  some  rude  benches,  and  her  own  seat  at  the 
head  of  the  table,  slightly  raised,  where,  with  her  sweetly 
solemn  voice,  she  reads  the  Gaspel,  interspersing  it  wnth  her 
own  simple  remarks  to  the  listeners.  She  is  teaching  them 
to  sing  sacred  hymns,  too;  and  the  children,  who  come  in 
large  numbers,  are  never  tired  of  talking  about  the  good- 
ness of  the  Lady  Maude,  who  thus  learns  much  of  the 
private  wants  of  the  people  who  surround  the  castle. 
Her  audience  increases  weekly,  and  Father  Matthias  fre- 
quently steps  in  to  drop  a few  words  of  encouragement  to 
the  lady  of  the  castle  and  instruction  to  the  people.  Thus 
out  of  the  darkness  they  are  travelling  into  the  light. 

Truly,  it  is  a new  era  at  Hawksworth ! Formerly,  the 
people  only  obtained  access  to  the  castle  in  the  Christmas 
holidays,  when  all  old  castles  were  thrown  open  for  two 
weeks;  but  now,  children  of  the  Saxon  gentry  and  the 
humbler  children  of  the  soil  mingled  together  weekly,  in 
friendly  terms,  around  the  Lady  Maude. 

The  priest,  too,  is  very  active  among  the  people ; visiting 
daily,  interesting  himself  in  their  affairs,  drawing  hearts  to 
good  Father  Matthias  by  the  magnetism  of  love. 

The  services  at  the  chapel  are  attended  by  many ; for, 
although  three  old  churches  were  in  sight,  most  prefer  the 
teachings  of  Father  Matthias,  and  crowd  to  the  chapel  at 
Hawksw^orth. 


MAUDE  AND  MIRIAM. 


333 


We  will  take  a seat  in  the  chapel,  and  listen  to  one  of 
these  old  sermons.  Strange  contrast  between  this  and  those 
of  old  Father  Ambrose,  who  seldom  preached,  and  when 
he  did,  it  were  better  that  he  had  been  silent,  for  it  was  only 
to  talk  about  some  of  the  absurd  dogmas  of  the  schoolmen, 
or  to  speculate  about  Michael  the  archangel,  wondering  if 
he  were  yet  chief  in  hell,  or  if  he  might  not  be  overthrown 
by  some  other  mighty  angel ; sometimes  a whole  sermon 
would  be  filled  with  vain  speculations  about  the  Wandering 
Jew ; but  here  at  Hawksworth  all  was  so  different. 

Reading  his  text  first  in  Latin,  he  translated  the  same; 
and  then,  in  glowing  language,  exhorted  his  hearers  to  fol- 
low the  Lamb  that  was  slain. 

‘‘You  see,  ray  children,  an*  ye  have  not  the  Spirit  of 
Christ,  ye  are  none  of  his.  Meek  and  lowly  was  the  Lamb 
of  God:  are  ye,  ray  children,  meek  and  lowly?  Pure  and 
heavenly  was  the  Lamb : are  ye,  my  children,  pure  and 
heavenly  ? Full  of  love  and  pity  was  the  Lamb  of  God : 
are  ye,  my  children,  loving  and  pitiful?  AVould  ye,  my 
children,  stand  before  the  throne,  clad  in  glistening  raiment  ? 
you  must  follow  the  Lamb  now,  an*  ye  would  walk  with 
him  forever  in  the  holy  city.  Would  know  how  ye  may  be 
made  like  unto  him  ? Bow  down  before  him  in  dust  and 
ashes,  and  pray  that  he  may  give  unto  you  his  own  Spirit ! 
Be  not  weary  of  praying ; for  our  much  praying  wearieth 
not  him,  and  he  liketh  his  people  to  ask  great  things.** 

Thus  Father  Matthias  taught  the  people  at  Hawksworth ; 
and  the  Lord  was  with  him  to  bless  tiim  and  give  him  mor« 
light 


834 


MAUDE  AND  MIBIAM. 


Much  singing,  too,  was  there  at  the  chapel;  for  the 
people  were  learning  many  of  the  old  hymns;  and  it  waa 
ever  the  good  priest’s  delight  to  sing  the  praises  of  the 
Lamb  that  was  slain. 

Stepping  aside  from  the  usual  seclusion  of  ladies  in  those 
days,  with  Sir  Guy’s  consent,  we  find  the  Lady  Maude 
among  the  sick,  the  needy,  and  the  suflTering, — attended 
always  by  a page,  however ; the  Lady  Alice  and  Blanche 
de  Lacey  frequently  her  companions. 

Once  a week  she  distributes  her  charities  among  the 
people;  and  on  Christmas  week  the  neighborhood  rejoices 
in  the  bounty  of  the  good  lord  and  lady  of  the  castle. 

The  same  offices  doth  Miriam  perform  at  RavenscliflT; 
and  very  sweet  are  the  days  when  the  Lady  Maude  is 
expected  at  her  former  home.  The  old  warder  sounds  a 
call  from  his  horn  that  all  have  learned  to  understand,  tip- 
ping his  cap  to  the  Lady  Maude  and  her  retinue  as  they 
pass  gayly  over  the  ballium  ; the  young  pages  peep  over 
the  palisades  of  the  tilting-yard  to  welcome  the  lady ; and 
good  old  Cicely  and  Father  Ambrose  are  ready  to  clasp  the 
small  hand  as  soon  as  she  descends  from  her  palfrey,  the 
music  of  whose  silver  bells  hath  called  them  to  the 
lower  hall. 

The  Lady  Jaqueline  and  Miriam  are  striving  for  the  first 
kiss,  while  the  baron  and  Sir  Lancelot  stand  smiling  by, 
patiently  waiting  for  their  turn. 

One  would  say  that  thou  comest  just  from  Palestine, 
MAude,”  said  the  baron,  **  to  mark  the  joy  thy  visit  giveth ; 


■ V 

MAUDK  AND  MTRIAMJ  \]  \ 385  j \ ' 

but  thou  art  ever  welcome  as  a May  morning/  daughter 
mine  I 

But  the  most  joyous  of  all  the  reunions  are  the  family 
gatherings  at  Christmas,  when  all  its  members  gather 
around  ie  hospitable  board  at  Ravenscliff. 

And  so  the  years  roll  on,  life  bringing  its  many 
changes.  Father  Ambrose  rests  before  the  altar  in  the 
chapel ; old  Cicely  sleeps  in  the  church-yard  near  the  castle. 
Miriam,  at  Ravenscliff,  and  Maude,  at  Hawksworth,  are 
filling  up  the  measure  of  their  benevolence  in  their  separate 
spheres,  gathering  around  them  households,  who  are  taught 
from  lisping  infancy  to  love  their  Master, — stars  in  the 
night  season  of  these  mediaeval  days. 

In  connection  with  the  only  Church  of  Christ  that  they 
knew  upon  earth,  they  remembered  Jesus  in  his  dying 
agony  when  they  partook  of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  holding 
spiritual  communion  with  the  Lord  whom  they  loved.  So 
much  deep  experience  of  that  personal  love  had  filled  their 
hearts,  that  neither  holy  saint  nor  Blessed  Virgin  was 
allowed  to  occupy  a throne  that  was  his  alone.  Out  of  the 
darkness  of  nature  into  the  spiritual  life  of  grace,  on  the 
ladder  of  faith,  they  were  stepping  heavenward.  Out  of 
ihe  darkness  of  tradition  into  the  light  of  an  unveiled 
Gospel,  as  living  epistles  of  truth,  they  displayed  its  power 
in  their  daily  lives. 

Throughout  our  story,  we  have  been  searching  for  the 
hidden  ones  of  our  Lord,  who  have  been  found  in  all  ages 
of  the  world  ; concealed  sometimes  in  mountain  fastnesses, 
following  the  liord^  t/'  be  slaughtered  at  last  by  savage 


SS6 


MAUDE  AND  MTEIAM. 


monsters ; sometimes  in  caves  of  the  earth,  or  in  the  dark 
catacombs  of  Rome,  to  be  dragged  forth  for  gladiatorial 
shows ; sometimes  even  in  the  convents  of  Rome,  where  the 
light  of  truth  has  penetrated. 

We  have  found  them,  in  this  story,  in  a feudal  castle, 
taught  by  the  pure  Word  and  Spirit  of  God,  serving  the 
Lord  in  simplicity  and  truth  ; and  we  shall  find  them  all 
again  among  that  great  multitude,  sealed  by  the  blood  of 
the  Lamb,  who  stand  before  the  throne  in  white  robes,  with 
palms  of  victory  in  their  hands.  Among  such  blessed  ones 
shall  w’e  find  Maude  and  Miriam  of  ancient  memory,  as 
representatives  of  our  Lord’s  hidden  ones,  sealed  from  all 
eternity  as  those  ransomed  by  his  precious  blood. 

The  mortal  life  of  the  race  of  the  De  Veres  is  ended ; 
at  eventide  it  may  have  been  light,  for  the  Gospel  was  in 
that  feudal  castle,  and  who  dare  limit  its  almighty  power? 

The  Baron  of  Ravenscliff  sleeps  in  the  cloisters  of  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Hilary ; Sir  Lancelot  de  Vere  and  Sir  Guy 
de  Mowbray  by  his  side.  All,  like  valiant  soldiers  of  the 
cross,  trample  the  young  lion  under  their  feet,  with  crossed 
legs,  the  chain  armor,  the  triangular  shield,  and  the  hand 
sheathing  the  sword,  as  in  token  that,  after  long  toil,” 
in  the  language  of  those  days,  they  had  entered  into  long 
peace.”  The  Lady  Jaqueline  and  the  Lady  Miriam  do 
Vere,  with  the  Lady  Maude  de  Mowbray,  lie  all  with  their 
feet  upon  a couchant  hound ; all  with  hands  devoutly 
clasped  in  prayer,  having  the  eyes  fixed  upon  the  image  of 
the  Crucified.  The  work  of  the  crusaders  is  done;  their 
history  with  the  things  tb«t  are  past.  The  age  of  chivalry  has 


MAUDE  AND  MiRIAM.  837  ^ 

passed  away ; the  old  abbeys  are  in  ruins ; walking  silent!}^ 
among  their  crumbling  arches,  our  feet  perchance  might 
tread  upon  some  mouldering  stones  that  mark  the  spot 
where  reposes  some  brave  old  knight  of  feudal  days. 
Where  once  stood  the  strong  feudal  castles  of  mediaeval 
days,  marks  of  the  heel  of  Time  are  everywhere  apparent ; 
for,  in  some  instances,  piles  of  ruins  alone  are  seen;  in 
other  localities  they  have  been  ^preserved  in  a state  that 
admits  of  the  visits  of  travellers ; and  then,  again,  naught 
but  grassy  mounds,  or  piles  of  rough,  gray  stones  appear. 
The  proud  escutcheons  have  mouldered  and  fallen  from 
their  ruined  walls ; the  shrill  trumpets  of  the  gay  tourna- 
ments are  heard  no  more ; the  clangor  of  martial  warfare 
and  the  song  of  the  troubadour  alike  are  silent. 

The  pageant  has  passed,  and  another  picture  of  lifers 
panorama  has  faded;  the  great  realities  evolved  out  of 
these  ages  ,f  confusion  and  strife  yet  to  come  in  theii 
perfection. 

The  imperishable  seed  found  in  the  Gospel  of  St.  John 
alone  remains ; its  germs,  planted  so  silently  in  the  lonel 
turret,  developing  into  ransomed  spirits  in  the  Paradise  oa 
God,  to  be  clothed  hereafter  with  the  glorified  image  of 
our  Lord. 


IHB  SITD. 


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